Mirai Nikki Surrogate
by Chamomile Pool
Summary: A series of one-shots that briefly explores how the other Diary users might have reigned as gods of time and space. Spoilers to the left, spoilers to the right!
1. (Primordium)

01 – Primordium

"But why a survival game?"

Murumuru had proposed all sorts of ideas. "A god has to be creative," she had said. "So why not have a manga or fanfiction writing contest?" Deus responded that creativity is nothing without purpose, and men waste too much time on frivolous things.

"A god has to be skillful," she proposed. "So why not elevate the greatest chess player in the world?" Deus responded that, in all due respect, playing chess is nothing like ruling over all of time and space.

"A god has to be smart, so why not collect all the best minds and give them tests on all the important subjects?" Deus' response was that the academic elite rarely are the sort of pragmatic doers that this sort of responsibility demands.

Perhaps, even, there could a popular vote in the world below, which would empower the people below to better listen to their god. Deus always had something of a bad public image. Things like this did not seem to help it, either—which is why Murumuru felt she was completely justified in asking whether there was not a better route, and why she felt indignant when Deus laughed at her.

"A survival game is the only logical choice," Deus ex Machina bellowed forth, gesturing with his hand. "For all the concerns you've brought up to me. A god must be creative, so he can create; a god must be skillful, so he can remain absolute, and a god must be smart, or else he will create something beyond his bounds. But each of these skills is not enough. There's a missing piece."

Murumuru kept pacing back and forth, walking on the air. Her master hovered in his breaking shell, observing the world from the Cathedral of Causality. He took his eyes from the events unfolding and rested them on his tiny devil servant.

Deus folded his hands together and, with a bowed head, explained, "I have maintained this world with consistent balance, in accordance with the vision I have had since Primordium. Violence and death are not arbitrary—they are my solution to some of the problems any future god would face. If I am to decide a successor, then, I will respect the principle of survival."

Murmuru stopped her pacing and, slowly, rotated so that she floated upside down in front of Deus. She ascended so her eyes were on level with Deus'. Her hair dangled down, but her clothes remained unaffected by gravity. She picked and chose how much of her she wanted bound by these laws.

"This is not going to win you many fans," she said. While upside down, she picked her nose idly. "But I know I'm not going to be able to change your mind."

Deus shook his head. "No, you will not," he stated. "In fact, the time has finally arrived for the Future Diaries to be distributed. I have given you glimpses and names already, as well as the according Diary they shall receive." He lifted his hand and called forth a portal between himself and Murumuru. "Pass through this rift, and seek out the Diaries. When you touch the Diary, you will activate its power and be teleported to the new user. When you are finished, _then_ we can speak about whether there was a better way to decide this."

Murmuru looked into the portal: it was a swirling array of colors, from which sparks of energy were shooting forth, grasping at random molecules in the air. She eyed it and then proceeded around it, to close in on the massive Deus. This was Deus—her companion endlessly, who after all the years, still could not appreciate the importance of consensus in a relationship, who still felt he wore the eternal pants in _every_ situation.

"I want to know what I'm getting into before I get thrown in like this!" Murumuru protested, poking her finger in the air, in his direction. "This doesn't feel right! I still don't like this, not one bit! What if none of these people you have picked are any good! Maybe someone bad will just get lucky, and—"

Deus's arm reached out and smacked Murumuru into the portal. With the forceful shove, the god shouted, "Go!" She went on, then, through this vortex that bridged one point of space-time to another, which bridged the mortal world to a dark realm, lit only by the isolated presences of the Diaries.

The objects went around in a wide circle, gently against the black abyss. Most of them were cell phones, but a few other objects were there as well: a scroll, a coloring book, a laptop, a camera, and a voice recorder. She looked at them for a while: _boooring_. However, nothing else interesting presented itself—the portal back to where Deus was nowhere to be seen.

Just as it looked like she was about to touch one of the cell phones, she caught something else in the darkness, outside the circle of Diaries. Murumuru curiously approached it, only to find that it was a crisp yen banknote. She looked tentatively to the left, then to the right; of course, she found no objectors to her claiming it.

When Murumuru stooped down to pick it up, however, it suddenly jerked back. She concluded that it must have been a draft. She tried picking it up again, and once more it jumped back—a _bad_ draft. Murumuru scratched her head and tried again. She went running after the banknote, only for it to skip away from her.

Murumuru followed the banknote all the way through a portal out of the darkness—and she only realized that she had done so, when she found herself stumbling over some sort of boxes on the floor. In her view now was a light source that previously was nowhere to be found: a square box of white fuzzy light, from which a "shhhh" sound was coming.

It was the only light present, but it gave her a good view of her surroundings still: it sat in between a wooden chair and a disorganized bed with white bed spread. Just behind Murumuru was the portal, which remained open behind her, and a tea kettle. Behind the television monitor was a window's curtain. A remote sat in front of the television set, on a little wooden stand.

She walked up close to the TV, so she could examine the remote. It looked like a standard remote, only that the button for channel one was missing, and it looked like the button for channel two had been swapped out for one of a different color, from an entirely different remote.

Murumuru looked back at the portal: sure, Deus was dying, but he could hold on just a little longer. Making him wait and have some patience might teach him a lesson, she figured, although she also concluded she needed no excuse to watch TV. Her finger touched the channel 2 button.

"Welcome, traveler."

Murumur jumped up with a start. In the darkness of the room, in hiding, someone had addressed her. She had not seen anyone else enter the room since she had found it—but she also saw no evidence that anyone had been hiding here, either.

"Do not be alarmed. I would not think of harming you."

Murumuru still stood alert.

"I merely want to explain to you what you're about to watch. You see, this is no ordinary TV. It tells the future… Or rather, _possible_ futures."

Murumuru looked back towards the fuzzy screen.

"Each button corresponds to a certain Diary, a certain conception of the world as it could be. We cannot be sure how accurate these representations are, but, it's certainly something _interesting_ to watch."

Murumuru nodded. This certainly was interesting. Even if some creep would be in the room with her the whole time, she could not pass this opportunity up. For this time, she had held her finger on the button, but now she pressed it in, and the TV switched to channel 2.


	2. Reason to Live

02 – A Reason To Live

Within the scene on the television set, an alternate Murumuru could be seen walking along a beam of light that cut through a thick, abysmal darkness. The path was pearly white, sustained by some unseen force, solid but not quite material. It just wide enough to contain one person at a time.

Around Murumuru, massive constructs moved sluggishly through the air. Some were simple blocks, and others had more complex shapes, but they all were cut from the some grey material and had archaic writing and pictures carved along them.

Murumuru was whistling as she walked along. So familiar was she with this situation that she found not the least bit disconcerting. Before, the blocks floating around had left her with this impression of decay and devastation, but now, she had become quite used to them. Occasionally, one would pass straight in front of her, cutting through the immaterial path, and she would just wait for it to pass on through.

From within her limited scope of view, a figure appeared in the distance. Gradually, they neared each other at their gentle pace: Murumuru met him in the middle, a young man in an open blue jacket and white polo. He had his hands sticking in his pockets. A thin necklace hung around his neck, with a crown on it.

"Any luck?"

Murumuru sighed and looked up at him. She could not figure out why on earth he was smiling like that, with the state of things. "Nothing at all!" She rubbed her brow furiously. "There's not a single new lead!"

"Ah, I see…" The young man began to rub his chin in thought. "So even with your powers, you still couldn't… Hmm… Well, at least we know that's one route that won't work!" He watched as Murumuru took a seat in front of him. "If I could, I would be trying my hands at some of these things, but it appears there's some rules I just can't break. Who would've thought being the god of time and space could be so restricting?"

Murumuru shrugged and, looking up at him, responded, "Why do you think you were created, Akise Aru? If he really had been able to do the work himself, he wouldn't have needed an Observer. I'd also be unemployed, too!"

Akise chuckled a little. His laughter reverberated throughout the great expanse of nothingness. With a turn, he set about leading Murumuru to the direction he had come from. He knew she had been on her way to see him, but he could not wait long enough for her to get there. Any small amount he could draw closer the time at which his hopes would be realized, he was naturally inclined to take.

"What are you going to do, if we never find an answer?" Murumuru asked, as they walked.

"I don't know," Akise answered, with a pause. "If we can't find a solution with the rules being put on us, then I guess we'll have to start inventing our own rules."

Murumuru sighed and, ultimately tired of walking, decided to float beside him. "I don't see what's so special to you about one human… They're all the same, anyways..."

Akise's smile renewed itself, just before he responded thusly, "That's not quite true. Every individual has a unique set of traits, inborn within the person's being. If this weren't the case, then I really could replicate any single person, but we both know that recreating the body does not recreate the same soul. We are shaped by every little event in our lives, and to that extent, I don't believe I'd be the same person if the exact events that happened to me had not happened."

"But," he continued as they walked down the path, "I have noticed some interesting trends. Being a witness to the survival game gave me a lot of data, and after having some time to think about my findings, I have reached some conclusions. People tend to destroy what they love, and love corrupts when it tries too hard or in the wrong way to protect, to the point where it can begin to destroy itself and anything that is connected to it. Also, what we consider 'bad' in a person—at least, within the confines of the survival game competitors, it all had to do with what they lost. The good in their lives, turned sour or taken away from them, became something dangerous."

"First, Yukiteru-kun, was so wrapped up in a perverse love of 2nd, that he was do anything to keep him and her together. This meant that he would even willing to kill his own friends. Yukiteru went 'bad' after losing his mother and father—at that point, he needed to choose someone else to cling to, and ultimately, he chose 2nd."

"2nd, after going through the survival game previously, snapped after losing Yukiteru-kun the first time. She loved him in the sense that she would not destroy him—honestly, Gasai-san makes the most interesting subject to study. She personifies the corruption of love in the most terrifying of ways."

"3rd was a school teacher who destroyed innocence; particularly, he preyed on women. While we don't know why he went bad, I wouldn't be surprised if it has something to do either some sort of loss of innocence he experienced when he was a student."

"4th loved the law and then destroyed the law, becoming a criminal after he knew he was about to lose his son. In losing the object of his love, he lost his rational ground, and like Yukiteru-kun, he opened himself up to using more dangerous tactics. Unlike Yukiteru-kun, however, he knew his situation was hopeless, and he was able to at least toward the end realize that."

"5th loved his mother and father. After losing them, he developed a twisted idea of family and tried to kill his new 'brother' and sister,' Yukiteru-kun and Gasai-san. It was his parent's death that was the catalyst."

"6th…" Akise stopped, for a moment, and into the darkness. "Do I really need to go on?"

"No, I get it, I get it," Murumuru insisted, flying on ahead of him. "I just still don't see the point in trying to do all this…"

Akise remained where he was, with his eyes still averted. "It is disturbing, how one seeks to take away from others what one has lost, that love can pervert itself so that it even tries to destroy what it originally _truly_ loved… And I suppose, if that's the rule, then I had nothing at stake. One who doesn't really exist doesn't have much to try to destroy? And my love for Yukiteru-kun… That was incorruptible."

Murumuru silently went on, which left Akise no choice but to follow her. He still was not satisfied with her lack of input, however. His thoughts were getting to him—the world had not 12th's fantasy, in that the people who won were not always necessarily good. In the world Deus ex Machina had ruled over, someone could nearly become a god after murdering his friends, while someone like 8th could be sacrificed along the way. To almost any onlooker, the one with the moral high ground would have been the one who refused to destroy in the name of love or even loss of love, the one who created new love and shared her love instead of perverting it. Still, the world Deus had created had not been like that, and he still did not know why.

"It's both fitting and ironic that you would not agree with my goals," Akise stated, when they had reached their destination. The path of light had directed them to a floating mass, composed of the same stone pieces that were floating around them. This particular piece, however, was of a much larger variety—it was the new Cathedral of Causality. It resembled a Mayan pyramid, and at the top, a stone chair sat. Akise ascended the long set of stairs, with Murumuru at his side.

"Why do you say that?" She asked.

"Deus made me in his image," Akise explained. "And Gasai-san became very much like you. In that way, we are fated to disagree. At the same time, though, for whatever similarities you and Gasai-san share, I'm surprised you don't understand my determination here. Maybe you're even worse than she is. At least, at the core, she was doing this out of what had once been real love… You, Murumuru… Perhaps you really don't know any better than to cause mischief?"

He smiled at the little devil, which only made her more upset. This did not stop him from going on. "Those bracelets on your wrists reminded me of chains, as though you were a servant—which you are—but there is more to it, isn't there? Given the chance, you'd gladly rebel against me and any god you serve. Tell me this is not how Gasai-san presented herself to Yuki: as a true servant, who would kill and die for him. In the end, though, we both know what her aims were. She wanted to destroy Yukiteru-kun, the one thing I couldn't let happen."

Just when Murumuru was getting sick of Akise's insistent talking, another sound filled the area. It was the sound of footsteps. The Cathedral of Causality was formed in such a way that there were a few layers on the pyramid, each featuring a little road that went around the entirety of the structure. Hollowed out doors were scattered around From halfway up the pyramid, Akise and Murumuru paused to watch as Mao and Hinata appeared from around the corner. They met them where the road intersected the staircase. From some distance behind them, Kousaka appeared, slouched over and with his hands deep into his pockets.

"We couldn't find a thing," Hinata sighed.

"It was rather disappointing," Mao added.

"It SUCKED," Kousaka summarized.

Akise looked up and shook his head. "This might be the most difficult case of them all…"

"But everything looked great in France!" Came Hinata quickly, suggesting a different tone for the conversation. "The people are living quite contentedly. So far, at least, there's much less conflict in this new world."

Mao confirmed it with the nod of her head. "Paris was so romantic!" She turned to her left and embraced Hinata, who wasted no time in trying to pry herself loose.

"And how was America?" Akise asked, looking at Kousaka.

With a frown, Kousaka answered, "It was alright, I guess. But I never realized how great America thinks it is. It's really annoying when something thinks it's so much better than it really is."

Akise, Mao, Hinata, and even Murumuru just looked at Kousaka for a while, before deciding it was better to laugh to themselves than to say something. This left Kousaka asking them, "What!? What!?" until the subject could be changed.

"If I were you, I would give up on trying to bring back Amano Yukiteru," Murumuru said. The laughter ended abruptly, and the three heads turned to look at her. "I would be focusing on running your world. That is what a god is _supposed_ to do. 1st would have killed you all, if things had gone just a little different! That was his intention! If Gasai Yuno had not been stopped by Akise—" she pointed at her new master. "If you hadn't killed her before she could give the final orders, he would have killed each of you. Instead, Yukiteru killed himself, because he refused to live without Yuno. Don't you see how stupid it is to try to bring someone like him back? He would _never_ have chosen you over Yuno!"

The little devil had her arms stretched open, and she was nearly panting over the energy she had expressed in the little rant. She had been consistently complaining about the state of things for some time, but never in so blunt of terms. Akise rubbed his forehead and closed his eyes, to help in his concentration. "You and Yuno are just the same—you think this world is a game, and the people in it are just pawns."

Kousaka jumped in to support him. "But we happen to care about that lunkhead!"

Murumuru, after a quiet growl, retorted, "But he is wasting your time! A god cannot bring the dead back to life! Only the body can return! Deus' powers defaulted to you because he was desperate... But just because you've inherited Deus' powers, doesn't mean you can do anything you want!"

In a flash, Murumuru found herself upside down, hanging just a few inches above solid footing. She was being held up by her tail, while the rest of her, after realizing her predicament, was flailing to get back in control of her balance. These efforts caused the culprit to give a good laugh.

"You forget that he isn't the only one with a god's powers!" Minene said, as she shook Murumuru around by her tail. "And while mine not be as strong as Aru's, if there's any justice in my existence, it's that I get to use the full extent of my powers to constantly swap you away!" She laughed again and then hurled Murumuru as far into the depth of the darkness as she could with one big toss. The servant disappeared somewhere in the obscure distance.

"And you know how much I appreciate that," Akise added, with a genuine smile. He turned around. "Just as I appreciate all of your efforts. Forget what Murumuru said—we'll figure this out. Time is on our side. I promised I would always protect you, and so as long as you're willing to work this out with me, we will find a way to bring Amano Yukiteru back."

"Just remember I'm not doing this just for that boy's sake," reminded Minene, from over his shoulder. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. "If we find out we _can_ bring Yukiteru back, you know who the next one to be brought back will be."

Akise nodded. "There's more than one who died in a survival game that should not have happened," he said, quietly but with a growing sense of urgency. "Although Deus created me in his image, I learned from all of you what he did wrong. I do not want to remain the god of this world. I truly want Yukiteru-kun to become god, but not alone—with our help. That's the way this should have all ended… with me being Yukiteru-kun's Observer. That future reality is my reason to live, and it's a hope we share in common: that we can fix the past, that _every_ mystery has a detective who can solve it."


	3. First Day of Class

03—First Day of Class

The surroundings were almost perfectly quiet; high above the highest wind, at first only the sound of a rhythmic, pulsating groan etched its way through the space. This was then joined with an infrequent scraping. From above, had there a place higher to observe the happenings below, it would look like a crowd in anxious wait for a concert. The hush that seized them was inevitably broken by incoherent calls for sustenance, for food, for drink, for another inch to move.

The scraping gained momentum. Somewhere, within the ranks of the idle masses, a shadow darker than the perpetual night sky began to inch its way forward. It was past the emaciated man, with his ribs out and his gut sucked in; it was past the woman whose eyes were squeezed dry and red; it was past the children constantly scratching at themselves, for some sort of relief. The scraping reached a crescendo, and one woman toppled, with a scream.

Those around her made no motion of sound. Their eyes flickered, but they dared not make another motion. Then another scrape—another dropped in near silence, but the crowd went on as though nothing had transpired.

"We lose a lot of students on the first day of class."

The shadow emerged, in front of a man in full white collar attire. Contrasting him was this figure, in a tattered cloak, the ends of which disappeared into wisps of quickly-fading smoke. In one gloved hand dragged a scythe; in the other, a large knife was pressed against the man's chest.

"This is how we… weed out the ones who do not deserve to be here…"

A distorted chuckle escaped the golden gas mask, under which was the face of god.

"Some might call this selection random, but there is actually quite the formula behind it."

After taking a swift step back, Takao Hiyama raised his knife to the throat of his target. He was about to slash across the jugular, when he suddenly pulled himself away, voluntarily disappearing into the crowd once more. Where he had stood just before, the man in the suit fell to his knees, struggling for breath.

A ring composed of human skulls continuously rotated above a teacher's desk and chair. Underneath the desk was a fountain of blood, which broke into four paths: one stream going North, the others going the other cardinal directions. These streams poured off the sides of the Cathedral of Causality, which floated high above the new world. The blood never ceased to rain down upon those below.

Takao appeared at the stairs that led up to the desk. He was given great clearance to pass on ahead, uninhibited. The moonlight was directly upon him, and while earlier he had appeared as merely a shadow, now the golden luster of his mask, goggles, and massive crown was brilliant. His red hair flowed past the crown, which covered most of his head, and fell past his shoulders.

Everyone in the crowd before him had heard the rumors. They had heard of how, when attempts were made to kill Takao, bullets were swallowed whole by his black cloak. They had heard of how great bombs could explode in the killer's face, only to leave the target unmoved. More so than details of Takao's invincibility, however, they had all heard of the gruesome fate of those who had attempted to kill god.

Takao stood before the desk. "Class is now in session," he announced, through his mask. He pulled his chair out. "Today's lesson is the most rudimentary of all: Survival." With a casual wave of his hand, a cord attached to the ring of skulls snapped. A knife, which had been suspended above the crowd, plummeted into a student's skull. The ring kept circling at a slow pace, several more weapons able to be dropped at any given time.

Taking a seat, Takao resumed, "Today we will have a pop quiz. It will be, as it should be, a fight to the death." He folded his hands professionally on the table. "The average one of you will last three hours. The mode—a modest five hours, at best. Anyone caught cheating will face strict penalties."

He held his glance over the vast audience before him—which filled up every inch of the Cathedral of Causality, before settling his eyes on a figure squeezing its forward. From between two muscular men popped out Murumuru. She was totally exasperated, bent forward and with her hands on her knees. "I don't—" she began, between quick breaths. "Understand why—you have to fill—this entire floor with stinky people!"

She straightened out her back and blinked hard in Takao's direction. The instructor, with his elbow on the desk, leaned his face into his right palm. "Murumuru," he explained, flatly, "This is my new class. We are at full vacancy, but spots are opening up quite quickly."

He seemed to gesture, although his body made no movement in any direction, toward the far-off sight of some of the people scrambling to stay on the floating Cathedral. With each passing second or two, another body was forced off.

"If _s_is taken to indicate approximate distance in feet, and _t_ is the variable of time spent in free fall… Then, the formula is s=16t^2. Using conservative figures, we are at 20,000 feet. In other words, anyone who falls from this height will fall for, and this is a very rough estimate—two minutes. Two minutes is quite a long time, Murumuru. One can think about a lot of things in two minutes. All the things he will never see again, how one's body can be so painfully crushed along the way. The conscious mind will not last that whole time, of course, but it's still a _very_ long fall."

Murumuru gulped. "Well, when you put it that way," she said, "Maybe I don't mind it being a little crowded around here." She hopped up the stairs and then allowed herself to levitate onto his desk. She sat on the edge of it, kicking her feet, as she looked on in the same direction Third's goggles were fixed.

"Those deaths are not the most interesting," Takao quietly admitted. "They are not enough of a challenge. A good death takes time, takes intellect. It might have many possible solutions, many possible ways of getting to that ultimate conclusion—but like a good equation, it is a challenge. Killing harmless women in alleyways satisfies curiosity, satisfies me for a little while, but this… I find this even more fascinating."

Murumuru shrugged. "I don't see what the big deal is," she chimed. On the desk was a bright red apple, which she eagerly took into her hand and bit a chunk out of. "You humans have such a weird habit of killing each other for the dumbest reasons, but at least you seem to know why you're doing it."

Third went silent for a while, before resuming, "After Yukki, Yuno, and Fourth were killed during the attack at the school, tracking down the others was _too _easy. Twelfth eliminated a few of my competition for me, but when it was just he and I as the remaining Diary owners, he became much more of a nuisance than anything else. His blind spot was easy to deduce, however. He let his code of justice guide him, instead of his unbridled, calculative mind. Justice is an illusion. What's real and measurable is the thrill that exists only when life is on the line, when all that stands between this world and oblivion is a matter of seconds and cold steel. I continue to find it peculiar how Twelfth survived so long as he had. The odds should've been stacked against him, from the start."

"I could say the same about you," Murumuru mentioned. "You still wear a mask, although you are indestructible. You are constantly paranoid, thinking that somehow, your life will be as quickly destroyed as the lives you take. That isn't stable. You shouldn't have become god, but you did. You humans really are funny."

She turned herself around and asked, "If you like the thrill of killing so much, how are you so satisfied with watching from up here? You could always hand over your power to me, and join them—"

"No," Takao answered, firmly. He swiped the apple from Murumuru's hands. "I've yet to be bored. The completion of the survival game marked the completion of an invaluable set of data. I have plotted out each point; I am in the works of testing so many new theories. I have discovered all the variables that can make for the proper killer. I may not be down there myself, but I live through these experiments in data alignment. Look at the world I've created…"

Takao tossed the apple into the crowd and grasped the knife, which he had earlier set on the desk. With a quick swipe, he cut through the fabric of time and space, creating a window through which the world below could easily be viewed. It was a narrow view, narrow as the Murder Diary's own scope, but it gave a fabulous view—it showed the events below, through the eyes of any chosen person below.

Via this lens, both Murumuru and Takao could watch as a trained killer began to creep up on an unsuspecting victim. They could hear the crunch of leaves under the feet of the one being followed, and they could observe in conjunction the careful steps taken by the assassin.

"The Survival Game was not big enough in scope," Takao commented. "This is not just an aspect of the world below; it as much a constant as breathing. Killing is as natural for the body as eating or drinking. All through towns, cities, open spaces—landscapes of all varieties—nowhere is one truly safe. The hunters are hunted, as are the innocent fodder I create to test the blades and bullets of my products. I compile a list of attributes, and once the variables are adjusted, I assemble a new killer. Each is unique in its properties."

"With the goal of creating the perfect killer?" Murumuru presumed, looking back at the crowd. "I don't think you'll find it among these guys… They look like they're all about to fall apart."

Takao slammed his fists on the table, causing enough of a startle in Murumuru to make her jump. He followed with a reveling laugh. "Those are but integers, to be subtracted! These are nothing but points on the scatterplot; through which ones a line can be drawn—through which ones any modest amount of success will be found—I remain in anxious anticipation to find out. That is the thrill here that you are not comprehending. This perfect killer, this killer _x_, remains for now an unknown value, but in suitable time will be solved for."

The crowd remained silent still, but in response to Takao's words, there was an increase in the trembling among them. They knew that, in a moment, they would be released into the world below, to be swiftly struck down and tortured if they did anything other than comply with these new natural laws of human living and killing.

"Observe, Murumuru," Takao now insisted, drawing the servant closer to the tear in space-time. "I have been watching this one closely… I think he may be, if not _x_, one on the evolutionary path to revealing x's identity."

Murumuru squinted her eyes—through the vision of someone inside the world, an alleyway could be seen. It was entered, and soon after, within the darkness, something sprang upon the viewer—a bear trap seized his leg. The eyes could be seen looking downward, and in that given moment, the killer emerged out of the corner of the eye—a murderer in a green hooded jacket. In one hand was a machete, and in the other, a handgun. A playful laugh went shrill in the audience's ears. What was most peculiar is what held the weapons; each of the killer's hands was inside of a puppet.

"He is one of the elite, the sum of my many calculations!" Takao boasted, as the machete was raised—"He is my teacher's pet, my very best student!" The rip in space-time was sealed up, and Takao stood with thunderous energy. Murumuru took to the air, in fear that he might actually do something reckless.

"And his is the score to beat," the god declared, raising his scythe now above the massive crowd. "Aim high, students. I want you all to succeed… Some of you will inevitably fail, but please, do try. After all, it is only going to get much more difficult after today. This is only your first day of class."


	4. Call the Police

04 – Call the Police

From the new Cathedral of Causality, a great blue light continued to turn its focus round and round. Something like a building was there, but it had no structure and simply let the rain pour in from the darkened sky. Two possibilities were likely: it was in shambles, or it had been left unfinished. A window was missing in more than just one place; there was no roof.

It was to be four stories, but after the second story, it was just bits and pieces. Columns rose into nothingness from this third layer, and stairs grasped for a destination. A system of wires ran up from the lower layers and was wrapped around a large structure suspended precariously at the top—the great blue light that kept turning in the sky. The light was powerful and shielded within thick glass, but compared to the large building it was above, it looked small and weakly supported. The wind was so strong, too, especially this night—and it might seem as though, at any given point, its support might just snap, and the whole light would come crashing down on the almost-building below.

Around the facility, a circular area was paved into a city road, complete with stop signs and street lights. Beside the cement stairs that led up to the first floor door, a little road was being driven on just now. The vehicle was a child's imitation of a police car. "WEEEE-WOOO!" The driver, Murumuru went at a pleasant 5 miles per hour (8 kmph) toward a little hole by the door. "WEEE-WOOO!"

Like the outside, the inside was not much to look at. It was as grey as anything else, made even darker by its newfound wetness. The road stopped halfway through the large room; Murumuru parked the car in her reserved spot as usual. The door clicked open, and she emerged in uniform with a great big red umbrella over her head. While her right hand held the umbrella in place, she used her left hand to shine a flashlight forward, straight into someone's eye.

Kurusu Keigo sat in what appeared to be a replica of his old chair at the police station. The soft yellow light in Murumuru's hand showed that most of his face was patched up. All that remained showing was his nose, his left eye, and the skin that remained in between. Over what had once been his right eye, the white bandaging was a deep red.

"Kurusu Keigo, sir!" Murumuru shouted, saluting with the hand the held the flashlight. When she brought the hand back to its original position, she found his face unphased. He was just staring ahead, his left eye fixed on the expanse ahead. Murumuru wandered up to Keigo and, unceremoniously, hopped onto his lap. His hands were flat on his knees, and she smushed them now between her own knees. She leaned forward and waved her hand in front of his face. "Earth to Kurusu Keigo! Fourth, wake up!" He did no more than blink.

She heaved a sigh and shone her flashlight around. Nothing had changed since last time she had checked up on him. The debris was still in the same places. "You must be looking at something pretty interesting, if you're going to keep on looking like that," she said both to him and to herself. She was shining the flashlight straight into his eye now. He winced slightly. "You know, you could just heal yourself if you wanted to! You're the god of time and space now!"

She turned about on his lap and sat her bottom on his leg. She dangled her own legs ahead and crossed her arms. Murumuru's red umbrella was over both of them. She would like to think that he was at least a little pleased, to not have the rain coming down on his head any more. "But instead, you've just been sitting here like a lazy bum, boring me to tears!"

Keigo's hand suddenly clasped Murumuru's throat, and in one swing of the arm, he hurled her off of him. She crashed into the wall, before springing back onto her feet. "You have no right to talk about tears to me, imp," Keigo snarled. He remained focused ahead, but Murumuru felt quite happy that she managed to finally get a response out of him. "I have a lot on my mind, Murumuru."

She nodded, as though suddenly remembering. "Your son, right?"

Keigo's eye moved her way. She held her flashlight toward him, and for the first time in a while, it felt like they were having an actual conversation. "It isn't even so bad," Murumuru remarked, quickly. "If you were able to win the survival game, this situation with your son should be no problem at all." His gaze returned to its original spot.

"For starters," Murumuru began, deciding to float in front of Fourth's range of vision, "You used your alliance with Yuno and Yuki to its fullest, before killing them in the police station. Then, you uprooted scandals that made 10th a criminal." Keigo said nothing. "Most impressive, however, was how you used Nishijima to take down 9th! Because he aided a terrorist, he was able to show up on your Crime Investigation Diary. You tracked them down and, knowing that 9th would be able to use her Escape Diary, went after Nishijima. It was when you killed him that 9th's composure broken, and she let her anger get the best of her. You couldn't lose at that point."

Rather than cheer him up, her words seemed to sullen his expression—although it was hard to truly tell, with his face all wrapped as it was. For the longest time, he said nothing. Murumuru knew he had returned to his silence. She had been so close to getting him to open up; she could not help but wonder if it was something she had said. That was what she was wondering, when she opened up the door to her little police car.

"I'm going to go visit your son now," she said as she got in. "He's at least a little less boring than you are." She slammed the door shut and backed out of her parking spot. Murumuru then turned around and drove out the same way she had entered. He had become a permanent fixture of this place, just as the walls were to her—lost potential.

She drove along the road that ran around the almost-building. When she looked out the window, she could see the endless sky. Somewhere, down below, there was a dried up world. While Keigo sat, staring ahead, there was a whole dried up world down there. She was not so much upset about that, as she was upset that he had not given her anything else to play with, other than just this car. Neither soul in the Cathedral of Causality was much for conversation, either, so she did not have many places to even go in her little vehicle.

Murumuru parked her car in the middle of the road. The likelihood of it getting into an accident, when she was the only driver, seemed pretty slim. She got out of the vehicle, just as before, with her red umbrella in hand. Murumuru then leaned her back against the door and used her free hand, which had earlier held the flashlight, to draw out a cigarette from her pocket. She held it between her fingers and brought it to her mouth. With a simple exhalation of her breath, the end began to burn. She took the opposite end to her lips and began to smoke, as she observed Keigo's son at the edge.

He was standing over, looking down. She knew how it would probably go. The boy would try to jump, and then Fourth, as usual, would immediately detect it and shout for Murumuru to catch him before he'd hit the ground. It was the same whenever he tried to do something drastic. The first few times, she was alarmed by Keigo's urgent orders, but now it was becoming too commonplace.

"Murumuru, is that you…?"

Murumuru walked toward him, umbrella in one hand, cigarette in the other. "Mmhmm," she chimed. "Your old man was boring me."

"He's not my 'old man' anymore," the boy corrected, in a monotone voice. He had not turned to face her. "My old man was a hero. He saved people. He stopped bad men. He didn't kill people."

Murumuru breathed out a puff of smoke. She was now standing on the edge, at the son's side. "You're still hung up on that, huh?" She shook her head. "You humans really do get worked up over the silliest things."

He backed away from the ledge a little and turned away from her, quickly. "Murder isn't silly. It's a crime. Cops are supposed to stop crime, not make crime. Cops are supposed to be the good guys. My father is supposed to be one of the good guys."

Murumuru did not want to dismiss either him or his father as a lost cause, but he was beginning to sound like a broken record. She remained at the ledge. Her back faced his. "Aren't you happy, that he did it all to help you?"

"I would rather have died," the boy answered, simply.

"He loved you so much that he sacrificed his code of honor," Murumuru suggested.

"He should've kept it."

"But what happened, happened—"

"It hasn't stopped happening in my head."

"But you should at least make the most of it, and be happy—"

"I can't be happy any more. I'm stuck on this floating rock with a murderer, the man who killed my real father, and I am not even allowed to die. He's damned the three of us here."

The boy began to kick at Murumuru's car. Her eyes widened, and she rushed toward the vehicle, arms reaching out. "Hey! Hey! That's mine!"

He changed tactics. He slammed his fist into the window and used his bleeding hand to unlock the door from the inside. Murumuru increased her speed. The boy got in and started the vehicle up. He was not playing around; he ignored the speed limit on the signs when he brought the vehicle into reverse, nearly running Murumuru over.

It appeared as though he was going to back up all the way past the edge, but he stopped right as the tires would have gone over. Murumuru was waving her hands, shouting something, but he had blocked out her voice. Keigo's son slammed his foot down and sped forward, so that it could go crashing through the wall of the first floor and slam into the person sitting inside.

Before the vehicle could reach the building, however, something miraculous happened. The light towering above went from blue to red, and a great siren was sounded from within the Cathedral of Causality—a sound greater than what any natural disaster on earth could muster. The boy took his hands off the wheel, in a desperate attempt to plug his ears.

Murumuru did the same, as she watched in horror from afar. _Something_came out from each side of the building. These two shapes were ambiguous at first, appearing as large, fuzzy forms of light. Then, they materialized and appeared as two giant, golden wings. There was one coming from each side, meeting where the vehicle was about to crash. The miniature police car was the moment it touched them. After a flash of light, all that remained was Keigo's son, kneeling before the building, and Murumuru, sobbing over the loss of her vehicle.

"Now look what you did!" She whined. Murumuru was floating and throwing wimpy punches at the son's back, as he remained kneeling, head down. "What are we supposed to play with, now?"

A gun was fired. They both looked, from the positions they were in, and found that Keigo had wandered to the back of the building. He had one hand on the wall, as if for support, and the other holding up a gun to the sky.

"Son, I need you to—"

"I don't want to hear it! I'm not your—"

"No!" Keigo fired his gun once more. The boy's mouth shut. "Listen to me! I need you to listen to me." His eye slithered back and forth, from his son to Murumuru. "I wanted to create a world where my son could be safe. I wanted to create a world where the people I loved could be safe… Could anything be of better intention?"

Silence.

"I wanted to create a world where one would never have to call the police—because they'd always be there, always protecting the innocent from harm. Son, I knew that the last god was not just, when you suffered—you were going to die, although you've done nothing wrong! You were going to die!"

He let go of the wall and, after leaning slightly to the left, managed to steady himself. "So, I wanted to do a better job. I wanted to create a world, where you could be happy. But I see now… That my existence makes that impossible. I cured you of a terminal illness, only to lock you here, with a monster. More than just my flesh is forever ruined. I am walking death. Some god I am!" He tried to laugh, but it came off as a different sound.

Keigo put the gun in his hand to his temple. "But I want to at least do one thing right, in my reign as god—and that is, to end it. I was never meant for this power. I stole it. I killed for it. This power has blood on it. A good man can't be god."

Murumuru launched herself forward. She was screaming about how he could not do this. What it would mean. How it was beyond dangerous. Why she needed him.

But he pulled the trigger.


	5. Play Time

05 - Play Time

Bright red. It sounded loud when one crawled on all fours, thumping with the hands and knees. _Bump bump bump_. Red transitioned into blue. The sunlight poured in from all over, the color deepening only where one's shadow was cast. More sounds came from behind, but they were distant, too quiet to be from the red that had just been passed through. The _bump, bump, bump _was still louder in the form of a wicked echo, enough to just steadily unnerve. A series of big plastic tubes—from red to blue, then up a few, then going across and into the open air…

The glistening slide was next: a simple, angled thin metal sheet. It burned hot and stung the skin. From the slide, one tumbled into the next tube, which was a long one of orange color, which opened up again to the air, this time several feet above a large ball pit.

Murumuru looked to the left, then to the right. The tubes were like intestines in a certain way, wrapped so tightly together in one giant clog, but they were also divided in such a way that made the system look instead like some sort of congested three dimensional illustration of an insect colony's many different escape routes. The ball pit disoriented Murumuru a bit; it was an almost blinding array of bright colors. They were not inviting large plastic balls, either; they were compact and made of hard plastic.

Murumuru got into her best diving position. She wiggled her behind and smacked her palms together, so that her elbows arched above her body and a diamond shape was formed by her arms. She then, after taking a deep breath, jumped and descended into the pit. The wind gave such a wonderful breeze through her long white hair—it felt very nice and cool, compared to being inside those hot tubes—for the few seconds it lasted. Then, she crashed spectacularly amidst all the color.

She floated such that the plastic balls were up only a little above her waist. Looking ahead, there was another plastic tube. She knew the route well: that one ahead would lead to a little lookout spot outside of the playgrounds. That was her destination. Murmuru waded ahead, using her arms to push against the little obstructions in the way as she kicked herself forward.

Suddenly, her ankle was seized. A hand had clasped her foot, and before Murumuru could do so much as scream, she was pulled down, deep into the ball pit. She was being dragged back, in the direction she had just come from. The speed they were going was violent; she was getting beat up through the rush, as the little plastic pellets moved against her.

There was, of course, no light underneath the play pit either. It was just a mad rush through the most colorful darkness. Finally, she found herself being brought to the surface. She gasped for air and opened her eyes, only to observe a knife towering above her, in the hands of her assailant.

"I win! I win!"

Reisuke Houjou started laughing. He stabbed the knife all around her, making little exclamations as he cut through the air. Murumuru began to flail back, kicking up such a storm that the plastic balls began to rise in a flurry between them.

"No fair," Murumuru stammered, after she caught her breath. She crossed her arms, feigning mild defiance. "After all, you made this place. I'm only just figuring it out. You know all the short cuts!"

"No one said it was going to be fair," Reisuke responded, still grinning over his victory. "You can never win against an elite! Let's play again!"

Murumuru shrank a bit, into the ball pit. She looked over her arms and legs, which had several little dark bruises. There were cuts here and there, as well, some recent and some from quite a few weeks ago. "But we've been playing this game so much," Murumuru whined, "Let's do something else… Play a board game, read some romance manga…"

"That sounds boring!" Reisuke retorted, aiming the knife at her. "The elite get to choose! Always!"

Murumuru rubbed her eyes. This was not helping her blood pressure. Each time they played this game, it ended with Reisuke popping up when she least expected him and was most vulnerable. He always won, and he always took such glee out of beating her. She was reflecting on how cruel children can be, when an idea came to her.

"Hey!" She piped up, grinning back at him suddenly. "You haven't checked on the others below for a while… Maybe you should say hello to them, and make sure they are being good boys and girls."

Reisuke seemed satisfied with this idea. He clapped his hands, and a purple cloud formed where they met, concealing his hands at and above the wrist. The smoke faded when he pulled his hands apart, and now he was wearing two hand puppets. One looked like a spitting image of Yuno Gasai, and the other looked just like Yukiteru Amano.

Closing and opening his hands, Reisuke manipulated the puppets' mouths to chatter. He hopped from one side to the other within the ball pit, making the mouths open and close faster and faster, channeling more and more of his powers as he did so. A short distance from where he and Murumuru were, a twisting portal appeared.

Reisuke hopped in, and Murumuru rose into flight. She glided ahead, only to have the portal collapse in her face. When she turned around, having past the spot, she heard Reisuke's distant laugh. A second portal now appeared, behind her. With a sigh, Murumuru entered.

The new Cathedral of Causality had two parts. The higher part was this giant playground, an expansive maze of colorful tubes and slides and ball pits and all sorts of other equipment. There were little sanctuaries within that had swing sets, monkey bars, and even video games.

Below it was a much smaller stretch of floating land. It was pentagonal in shape, dangling from the massive playgrounds above by thin cords at each of the points. Unlike the structure above, which was mostly plastic and metal, this part of the Cathedral of Causality was ripped straight from the earth. Roots hung from the soil, and soft grass invited the feet of its two occupants.

In the center, a large hole went straight through, giving them a terrifying view of the world below. The clouds were constantly repelled from it, allowing for an uninterrupted view of the microscopic world. There were only three items on this stretch of land—Reisuke's seat of power, located near the hole, and two grave stones resting right behind it.

His throne was a soft, children's arm chair, stuffed with durable foam and finished off with a bright red fabric. Reisuke sat at the edge of the chair, which was several times his size, poked at the air with his two puppet hands. Wherever he pecked, a bubble appeared, and inside an image of the world below was contained.

The images were like scenes from live cameras; in each, after a few seconds, the children being observed would turn and take notice that they were being watched. Whenever a bubble appeared before Reisuke, a bubble showing his image would appear in their world below. The children, of various sizes and colors and attitudes, would smile at him, with whatever teeth they had, and give him a wave. The bubbles echoed each other, in a high-pitched, child's chorus: "Hi Big Brother!"

Murumuru kept her eyes on the hole as she went around it, to end up on Reisuke's side. She levitated, so that she could speak softly by the boy's ear. "You seem really happy to see them. See? This was a good idea!"

Reisuke nodded. "I'm always happy to see them. I love them all very much! I had to work very hard to get where I am now, so I _have_ to enjoy the world now that it's mine!" He looked from bubble to bubble, keeping his voice low enough so that they could not overhear. "After I had finished playing with my brother and sister in the Amano house, that stranger came to visit. I'll never forget that silly look on her face, when she saw them! I caught her by surprise and found that she had a Diary, which I destroyed. At first, I was very sad to not have my brother and sister to play with… _But_ _then_ I realized that soon I would be in charge and could have all the brothers and sisters I could want! A few days later, the doorbell rang, and it was this scruffy-looking police man. He kept checking his phone while he asked me questions, and I figured out he was a Diary owner easily! He became the fourth to lose in the Amano house. I snuck away and got picked up by Ai and Marco. I thought they were like my daddy and momma, but then I realized they were nothing like them, at all. They were elites! They brought me to the nice lady's orphanage, where I just had to wait it out. The nice lady was kidnapped, and Ai and Marco went in to save her, and I just was sitting at the orphanage when the explosion happened! Apparently, another Diary owner had tried to use the nice lady's Diary to give everyone in the city a Diary, but because of Ai and Marco, everything blew up! The game was so much fun!"

He reflected on his victory often. He seemed fixated on retelling it to Murumuru whenever the situation seemed to demand it. He took an odd pride in how his victory combined the ruthless killing of four Diary owners, as well as the harmless observance of the last four being killed without him so much as having to lift a finger. It satisfied two desires: to know that he has the power of an elite, and to know that he was _meant_ to be the new god, that fate worked everything in his favor.

"I was born to be the new god," Reisuke suggested. "That's why daddy and mamma always fought. They knew that I shouldn't learn to depend on them. They _wanted_ me to see them fighting, so I could learn how to rely on my own thinking." He turned over in his chair, to look at the two gravestones. "They loved me so much, didn't they, Murmuru? God made my parents never sleep with each other, and now I'm god!" Reisuke chuckled and turned back in his chair to face Murumuru.

He raised the Yuno hand puppet. "And now that little Reisuke is god, we're all so happy!" He spoke in a high-pitched, female's voice, which then switched to a voice more like Yukiteru's.

"He gives us everything we need and takes care of us and gives us brothers and sisters to play with!"

Reisuke lowered his puppets and looked fixedly off into one of the bubbles. A few children were playing with some of the toys he had given them: a few sticks of dynamite, some knives, and a stun gun. "If someone is older, they need to watch over the younger people's every move, to keep them in line. This is what it means to be elite."

Murumuru sighed, not because she was bored, but because she exhausted. Ever since Reisuke had replaced Deus, she had lived a much more high strung existence. Little children were so tiring to take care of! Reisuke always wanted to play, and if he ever found himself slightly bored or feeling down, he would certainly take it out on Murumuru in some fashion. The same happened if he was feeling especially happy; his emotions always hurt his helper. He may have been about her size, but he was always faster and always stronger. Deus, who could have crushed her if he so willed, at least was slow and let her be. She would have preferred being sent on more silly errands in the world below, but Reisuke kept her locked up there always, so he would not be alone.

"Hi everyone!" the boy who became god waved toward all the bubbles. "Hi!"

"Hi Big Brother!"

"Play time is over, everyone."

A massive "awww" sounded from the little floating spheres. The children wore visible signs of unhappiness. They were worried this might mean it would be nap time soon, or that they might have done something wrong and were about to be punished.

"It's time for snacks!"

At this, the children brightened up again. A few even hollered a quick cheer. Food was sometimes even more popular than fun.

Reisuke clapped his two puppets together, and the magic happened: all across the world below, cupcakes popped into existence. They were just the right size for the little tykes, and were wrapped in colorful paper. They came in all sorts of flavors, from blueberry to chocolate chip to some that looked rainbow colored and tasted like peaches and cream.

"What a rich harvest," Murumuru murmured, dreamily looking on at the bubbles. She wished he would give _her_ a treat once in a while.

The children were enthusiastically biting through the cupcakes, some even going so far as to lick the paper they were in. They were a huge hit with everyone. Then, after a few seconds, their tummies began to make weird gurgling sounds. In less than a minute, all of the children were falling over, silently collapsing by the millions. The entire world's population had been lethally poisoned in less than sixty seconds.

"Yay!" Reisuke cheered. "Now it's time to make new brothers and sisters to love and play with!"


	6. Kill the Light (Medius)

06 – Kill the Light

In the beginning, it had been said there was nothing, no heavens and no earth. There was no gentle wind and not even a drop of water; and it would seem a wonder to some what that cosmic silence must have sounded like. All creatures, accustomed to a world that _is_, full of people that _be_, have experienced the bliss of sleep and the fear of death, many believing that the latter would be temporary as the former was. The world had not always been, and so it was returned to its former condition at the end—the condition of total nonexistence.

Even the Cathedral of Causality was swallowed up and digested. Only darkness was the excrement. Anything that breathed and ate and felt joy or pain or entertainment or boredom had been devoured, sucked into a great void. The rift opened up at the site of the Sacred Eye cult and took the form of a massive, dark orb—and any who peered in, as he felt himself being sucked rapidly into its growing expanse, would have seen with such great clairvoyance the simple, unavoidable future that awaited.

"No more seen world, no more unseen world… Only the Naught…"

The voices had nothing to obstruct them. Nothing diminished the audio through the limitless darkness, and truthfully, the louder she spoke, the faster the words reverberated through the Naught. A voice here never went away; it came back to its source time and time again, through eternity. Every sound was captured, from the quiet whispers to the screams to the sobbing to the laughing which now seized Tsubaki Kasugano.

A blotch of red in an infinite darkness: Tsubaki crawled on her knees, dragging herself forward with one hand while her other held her mother's handball. The kimono was that of a suffered goddess's, dripping with actual blood. Wherever she went, drops of blood became suspended in the darkness, only to fade moments later and be swallowed up in it, like anything else that became separated too far from Tsubaki.

Her feet were bare, except for the warm blood that always remained to leave footprints behind. Before her eyes, which had ceased to see anything at all anymore, her dark blue hair hung in disarray. To crawl on forever, through an infinite darkness—it would seem, to some, to be a punishment divine. Rather, it was within the context of the world she had created for herself that she now stopped to curl up with her handball, unable to cease in her laughter.

"They thought they could fill me up with their sins… they thought, _honestly_, that I could contain all the darkness, but just look!" A tremble went through her body, and she pressed the ball harder against her stomach. "This all broke out, from my desire! Those sensuous pleasures of man, the filth they filled my soul with… Where are they now? Where are _they_, that wretched mankind? Where are the Diary users who came to destroy me, to prevent my peace?"

Her shrill laughter finally faded, and for a moment, it echoed in the air. Then it became more distant, and its volume decreased until it was lost in the expanse of darkness, traveling towards the point at which it might rebound and find her some time later, along with her words now.

"Now, I am truly happy… Before, the only joy in my life was writing down the stories of my visitors in my diary, but now, I don't need visitors… I'm so, so happy without them…" She moved onto her back and looked up, with quivering, wide eyes. "Murumuru is happy, too, wherever she is… Maybe one day I will find her where I left her, or maybe not. But she is luckier than even I am…"

She sighed, and the sigh carried on eternally. In all the naught, there were but two eternal creatures, and of the two, Murumuru was the bound in such a way that she could neither move forward no scratch at any itch that might find her. A gag was in her mouth, and so Tsubaki thought her fortunate. So far as Tsubaki could not see at all and was happier for it, she longed to be mute as well, and then eventually, deaf to the echoes and numb to all feeling.

Still, the wailing returned to her from that time at which she cursed herself and all of those who had hurt her. Sometimes the cries stood out distinctly, either separated by time from the others by separated by the volume and intensity of their initial exclamation. Other times, they rushed at her all at once, in an incoherent wailing that haunted her. Tsubaki could still _feel_, and so wretched that was that Tsubaki's primary pleasure in existence was her dreamy thoughts of how, soon, she could feel nothing at all. That alone made her smile, this notion that it would not be long at all until she would unite with the Naught and be a part of the endless darkness. Then the voices would disappear, and her desire to kill the light would be satiated.

* * *

Medius

"Wow, what a terribly depressing future!"Murumuru was on her side, scratching her buttock. "Deus seems a lot better now…" She pressed the power button on the remote, and the red image of Tsubaki disappeared into the dark. The TV shut off, and Murumuru sat upright.

The light flickered on, and now the whole room was illuminated. Along with it, the figure in the room with her was now discernible. A man in a blue suit walked closer to her. A paper bag was over his head.

"These five futures you have witnessed are all possible outcomes of this survival game," he explained. "But fear not: the principles of justice will guide the most righteous person to victory. The world may fall into darkness for a short while, but eventually, justice always triumphs!"

The man had his arms outstretched and spoke with a strong conviction that made Murumuru shrug. "I don't like any of the futures so far," she said. "Even with Akise—he would lead them all into a desperate search that could never have a good ending. The laws that a god of time and space are bound by are few, but they _cannot_ be broken. He and the others would go crazy before they would be able to bring back Amano Yukiteru."

She sighed and turned back to the screen. "I hope one of these gods is smarter than this… Or else I might have to tell Deus to reconsider, just because of how bad these guys all are!"

The man behind her laughed. "You will soon find that not all of the Diary holders are so unprepared! Watch the rest, and _then_ tell me if you have the same conclusion about this Survival Game!"

She hit the power button and resumed with where she left off: on to channel 7.


	7. Till Death Do We Part

07 – Till Death Do We Part

Murumuru sat in darkness. The only illumination was a small ball of light in her hands, the object of her total concentration. There was sadness in her eyes as she looked upon it and despair in the tone of her whispers. "It all began so wonderfully… Why has it come to this?"

She looked up from the ball of light. "Ai and Marco wanted to live forever together, without any distractions. They created a world in which it was just the two of them, stripped of all life below, and ignored me for years on end—just to be with each other. But everything has its expiration date, and soon, they began fighting… And nothing is more destructive than fighting between gods! Now…"

Murumuru cradled the object in her hands. "Now, all that is left of the world is this little ball of light, which I am powerless to salvage. It is too late, now that the power of love has failed them—!" She began to sob quietly to herself.

The door opened, and the sunshine from outside entered the janitor's closet. Marco stood with his hand still on door knob, and Ai was there by him, with her hands on her hips. "What are you doing in here, Murumuru?" Marco asked, glaring at the little devil.

Murumuru held the ball of light in her clasped hands and rose to face them. "N-nothing! Nothing at all!" She put on a big grin. "I was just… entertaining myself! With a story!"

Marco's eyebrow rose, and he looked at Ai curiously. "In a closet?" She sighed and turned towards the direction they had come. "Suit yourself… But at least let us know when you're going to disappear like that. We were getting hungry and were wondering where on earth you were."

"Only you weren't on earth," Marco added, chuckling. "But in a closet. Alright, then! We'll be waiting in the observation deck for our breakfast!"

"Eggs—sunny-side up, three blueberry pancakes, and a tall glass of orange juice," Ai specified.

Marco followed after her, "Give me a plate full of sausage, French toast, and eggs—scrambled!"

They closed the door behind them, once more sealing Murumuru in the dark. The imp released the ball of light in her hands, which rose into the air at her will. "Endless destruction from the warring gods!" Murumuru lamented, dramatically falling onto her knees. She held her hands out towards the light. "No sun to light this new world! Endless pain and destruction!"

Ai and Marco approached the elevator together. "Going my way?" Marco tilted his head towards her and smiled. He was wearing an orange kung fu robe, parted above his torso just enough to expose his chest sufficiently. Around his waist, there was a belt with a crown-shaped buckle. Ai looked up at him and gave a nod. She was in a shimmering blue dress halter top dress. Around her neck was a diamond necklace with a crown-shaped pendant. The elevator went "ding" and the door opened up. The two stepped in and pressed the button, so they could reach their location a few floors down.

They stood a few inches apart and each had their eyes focused ahead. They likely had the same things on their mind, too: the events that had transpired so far, and the direction they had yet to decide upon for the future of the world.

They felt that a lot had hinged on their confrontation with 1st and 2nd, even though it was really just one of the several challenges they had faced. The only rationalization they could come up with for feeling as though this encounter was so important, however, was that the battle against those two really set the tone for the rest of the Survival Game. They were now in direct conflict against the remaining Diary users, 11th and 9th.

Marco knew it was really Ai that had saved them from defeat at the hands of the two _worst_ Diary holders. She figured out in time what Gasai Yuno was up to—that she had purposefully let her "Diary" fall into Marco's hands. Ai realized it was a fake and apprehended the danger in this twisted middle school girl, and the sense of alarm gave Ai the initiative and strength to completely disarm Yuno.

She realized what was at stake, and she was struck by the strong fear that if Yuno was allowed to have her knife on her, she could end up hurting Marco. Yuno was the only one that might be capable of such a feat, and by defeating her, Ai was sure that she would soon be able to enjoy eternity with Marco. When her love returned, he warned her about an oncoming dart from Yukiteru, which narrowly missed her. That was the closest they had come to losing, but close is as far as it went.

Yukiteru became desperate and grabbed the Yuno's knife, which Ai had launched across the room. With it, he charged for Ai, before Marco could react. 1st, however, was so afraid that he closed his eyes as he drove the knife down—in his cowardice, the one he stabbed ended up being 2nd, not Ai. The pair was not able to tear Yukiteru away from her, and so despite their efforts, he perished when the building was destroyed by Taro Nanba.

Their Exchange Diaries proved useful in leading an assault against 11th, who intended to kidnap their caregiver, Kamado Ueshita. He was able to be defeated before he could put his schemes into motion, but in the onslaught, 11th's zealous driver and secretary shot down the tender mother—and it was with tearful dedication that Ai, Marco, and the orphans became dedicated to putting an end to the Survival Game, in 8th's memory and honor. Both sides lost that day, but only one was defeated.

They combined their total forces against 9th and were able to eventually track her down. This was the fight that especially haunted Ai and Marco. It was difficult to excuse themselves for leading the onslaught against her. They did not know much about her, what her actual aims were, and what she might have done as god of the new world. For the orphans, knowing she was an infamous terrorist was enough to rationalize attacking her. Marco and Ai, no strangers to violent pasts, still were unsure whether it was the right thing to do.

Suddenly, above their heads Ai and Marco heard a loud sound, and the elevator came to a halt. The pair looked at each other and held onto their respective side walls. "It's stuck!?" Marco was frustrated for a moment, but then his expression changed to one of crafty anticipation. "Guess we'll have to _un_stick it!"

He looked at Ai, who was wide-eyed and a little fearful of whatever it was he might have in mind. Marco slapped his hands together and rubbed them furiously. The whole elevator began to shake faster and faster, until it suddenly went flying down, causing Ai to nearly fall over. Marco clapped his hands together when they were on the right floor, and the elevator came to a sudden halt.

Ai, taking deep breaths, held onto the wall and looked at Marco, astonished. "Are you trying to scare me half to death?"

Marco shrugged and walked out of the elevator. "You were the one who made it stop in the first place."

In turn, Ai followed behind him in a hurry. "Was it _that_ obvious?" He looked at her. It must have been. She looked down and said, rather quietly, "I just wanted us to have some alone time together, away from that little devil… I don't even care about breakfast, really…"

Marco laughed and put his arm around Ai's waist. "She can stay in the closet, for all I care," he agreed. "But aren't you being a little _too_ impatient? We have all of eternity to be together. And we _will_ be. But you're gonna get sick of me, if you don't mix things up by having other people in the world."

"Not _that_ again," Ai sighed. "I already know how you feel about it, but if we make other women in the world, you might—"

"There'd be men, too!" Marco interrupted. "And if you're so worried about _me_, you should remember which of us got the Flirting Diary!"

Ai quieted down, but she still looked pretty emotional. Marco went to gently brush her cheek with his free hand, while the other held her waist. "I know you're worried, but you know that I won't betray you. No one can come between us. But doesn't it feel selfish to not fill the new world with new people? We made a promise to those who helped us win."

Ai sighed. "Fine," she said. "But none of the women are going to be beautiful!"

Marco scratched his temple. "And the men are all going to be bald."

"Bald!?" Ai recoiled from him. "You wouldn't _dare_!"

Marco took his hand from Ai's face and whipped out a comb from inside his robe. He let it glide through his pompadour and looked at his partner out of the corner of his eye. "I wouldn't, huh?"

He leaned back in, towards Ai. "You know," he whispered. "Maybe we can make a deal and spend some time together alone _now_, skip breakfast, and _then_ create a new world…" Ai was leaning in as well, until the very moment they heard the fire alarm go off.

They both groaned. It had to have come from the kitchen. Apparently Deus had not often requested hot breakfast, and so Murumuru was still getting used to this process. This was not the first time she had messed up and needed to start back from scratch.

Ai and Marco kept walking, towards the glass. They walked until they walked _through_, and paused only once they were floating over the world below. Behind them was the Sakurami Tower, which had been reconstructed from their powerful memories of it as the new Cathedral of Causality. It floated in the air without any support. The world below was in its early and natural state, as of yet devoid of any human life. They had sat together one day and tried to recreate the ecosystems of the world, but both soon realized how little they had studied ecology. They were sure they were missing a few creatures, and their knowledge of insects was so catastrophic that, with Ai's prodding, they just decided not to include them this time around.

While floating there, outside their Tower, Ai and Marco each caused a cigarette to materialize in their hands. They turned slightly towards each other and brought their cigarettes to their partner's mouth. Upon touching their lips, each lit, and Ai and Marco smoked together.

"This habit is going to kill us one day," Ai said.

"Yeah," Marco responded, with a smile. "But walking the fine line between chronic bronchitis and chance is irresistibly exciting."

For a while, they remained silent, each continuing to gather their thoughts and look down at the lush forest below them.

"I wonder what kind of world 1st would have created," Ai suddenly blurted.

Marco shrugged. "He was such a loser… He probably wouldn't have created _anything_."

"Especially if that monster wouldn't be with him," Ai added, recalling how if 1st would have one, 2nd would have had to die.

Marco looked at her. "I wanted to save the kid, but he just didn't get it," he said. "If we wanted him dead, we had plenty of chances. Heck, we could've just broke their real Diaries when we had them. But they didn't get it, did they? I just wanted to draw some courage out of Yukiteru, but he was too much of a coward to protect either Yuno or his father. He was so helpless."

Ai sighed. "Darling," she said, "I know we couldn't save everyone. We did what we could. If everything before seemed bad, if everything that happened was for the worst—that's a good thing, right? If we know that the past was awful, that means the future will be better. So let's not think of those things. We have a world to create, you know."

This changed Marco's attitude substantially. "Y-yeah!" He said, enthusiastically. "A better world, wherever beautiful girl has a man who will protect her. Just like how I'll protect you."

Ai turned, to look into his eyes. Her whispers were soft, and Marco could feel her breath against his neck. "More than 14 years ago, I was abandoned at Sakurami Tower… And now, this time, I'm going back there to stay. This time, though, it won't be with tears in my eyes. It will be with you. This way, you'll never have to be alone in your thoughts. I'll carry the weight with you. I promise this, Marco—we will create a better world, a world with more _love_. We will be together—Till death do we part."

Then kissed the gods.


	8. A Better World For the Children

08 – A Better World for the Children

A portly woman was now sitting on the throne as a goddess, whose heels were tickled by a bed of flowers. Blue bells were intermingled with vibrant orange Oriental Poppies and pink Begonias. Flowers were all around the seat, forming a garden that consumed the new Cathedral of Causality.

The floating half-orb in which Deus had been sitting for countless centuries had been disowned, at the whim of the winner of the survival game. All but the chair had been swapped out for a new look, but rather than look out of place, the white throne stood proud among the array of colors.

Formerly known as the 8th competitor in the survival game, Uedshita Kamado was now sitting as the god of a new world. The events that led to her ascent of power, along with the effects of Deus' decay, had brought such wreckage to the world that it had to be reborn. At first, the sudden arrival of these powers unsettled 8th, who felt as though she were somehow intruding upon another person's role and playing with things that ought not to be played with. However, she changed her mind when she realized that if she did not create this new world, no one else would be able to.

Kamado tapped her thick fingers at the arm of her chair. She started with her index finger and then went successively to her pinky, her eyes moving from each of the screens before her. The entire world was visible from this command seat, and at first, she was doing all she could do just to keep up with it. The task was daunting.

A wide, golden chef's hat sat on her head, and her apron, displaying the image of a crown in its center, had the same shimmer to it. Her normal clothes had been replaced by a white robe that went a little below her knees. Around her neck was a necklace adorned with heart-shaped diamonds.

"You can take a break, you know!"

Kamado turned her head, to recognize Murmuru's approach. While 8th could not enter the world she had so articulately created, Murumuru was able to enter on her behalf, just like she was able to be that link with Deus. However, the change of management wasn't just a swapping of faces. This new god was utilizing Murumuru quite differently.

The tiny demon donned clothing that mirrored Kamado's, except the color scheme was inverted. Her apron and hat were white; her robe was golden. Murumuru was wearing thick oven mittens, which were balancing a baking sheet. A dozen chocolate chip cookies were placed evenly along the pan, and the smell quickly reached Kamado, who softly chimed, "Oh, they're done! That was quick."

"Well, I _am_ a demon," reminded Murumuru, as she carefully made her way toward Kamado. The first few days with the robe had proved troublesome, as she kept tripping over herself and getting tied up in the long garment. She enjoyed lying down and getting in lost in the robe, but walking always made her nervous. "With my magic, we can make as many cookies as you like in no time!"

Kamado watched Murumuru's approach; she looked so tiny surrounded by all the flowers. The god was smiling and felt the warmth overtake her body. The throne drew in heat, and it was the ideal amount, too, never enough to cause her discomfort.

"Then we'll have to make more!" Kamado cooed, reaching out her hand. "But first, let's see how these taste." The tiny servant with the long white hair scurried up to Kamado and held out the pan. Neglecting to notice the outstretched hand, however, she placed the pan of cookies directly onto 8ths lap.

"Murumuru!" Cried Kamado, while large blobs of tears were forming out of the corners of her eyes and spilling down her cheeks. "The pan is still hot! Pick it up, pick it up!"

Mirroring her master's panic, Murumuru was shaky when she grasped both sides of the pan. In her nervous fit, she not only lifted the pan off Kamado, but_launched_the whole thing into the air. The cookies disappeared into the thick array of flowers, and the pan landed nearby with a thud.

"I'm sorry!" Murumuru cried out, rushing to pick up the pan. "Please, forgive me!"

Kamado lifted up the bottom of her apron and used it to dab at her eyes. She brushed at her lap and then, while watching her servant, said, "It's okay, it's okay. Don't worry about it. Why would I get worked up over a little mistake like this? These things happen."

Mururmuru had the pan in her hands when she looked back up at Kamado. Her eyes were also watery, and a large, open-mouthed grin was stretched over her face. "You mean it?" She asked.

"Of course," Kamado answered, sweetly. "Deus would not have reacted much differently, I'm sure."

The demon satisfied an itch by rubbing her chin against her arm. "I don't know about that," Murumuru answered plainly. "I was very careful not to upset him. You know how fickle gods can be."

In the moments that followed, Murumuru left and promised to whip up another batch of cookies. Kamado, despite her initial decision not to do so, indulged in some reminiscence. The memories were not so beautiful. She recalled the bloodshed that had led to the elimination of the other 11 competitors. When she thought back on the entirety of the survival game, she found herself stuck on the question of how she ever managed to win.

"Everyone else wanted to win so badly," she thought aloud. "They wanted to win so much that they were willing to kill each other. My orphans fought to protect me, but as far as I know, I was the only one who didn't really try to win. And maybe that's why, in the end, I was the one who won. I was the last one standing, because I did not fight."

She sighed and focused on one of the screens. A boy was holding the hands of two other children, a male on his left and a female on his right. They were walking to an ideal spot, where they could go look at the stars.

"Amano Yukiteru and Gasai Yuno were bad people," she whispered. "But they were good children, once. I am sure of it. Everyone starts out so good and innocent, and then they corrupt, as they grow up. Something had to have happened to them, to make them who they were. The same is true for the others, whether they became a terrorist or a serial killer or anything else bad—they can be fixed."

She suddenly realized that Murumuru was standing in front of her, with another batch of cookies. "I maximized my power and whipped these up super-fast!" The demon explained, offering up the cookies now on a safe-to-handle platter. Kamado took the cookies with a smile.

Murumuru hopped down and plopped into the garden. She began to lay flat against the soil and made "angels" in the flowers with the moving of her arms and legs.

"Oh, yeah!" Kamado said, suddenly. "I was watching Ai and Marco today. They looked just like they did, all those years ago. Still…" The god's voice dropped into a more quiet tone. "Maybe I'm still used to how they were during the survival game, but they seemed _different_."

Murumuru's ears perked up. "Oh?" She asked, looking up. "I thought you knew."

Kamado's expression softened, yet it was not the sign of relaxation. "What do you mean?" Her voice had a strict sense of importance to it.

Murumuru knew she could not avoid answering, and so she explained, "Being god doesn't mean you can just do _anything_. There are a few rules, and one of the big ones is that you can't bring back people who've died. I mean, you can bring back their bodies—but you can't bring back their souls. They are going to be different, even if put in similar situations."

Looking back to the screen, Kamado watched as the child known as Reisuke Houjou dropped the puppets he had been given as a gift from above and instead gravitated toward playing with a toy train set. Kamado leaned her head back, pressing it against the back of her chair, began to sob, and closed her eyes.

In this darkness, she envisioned the world she had created. It was laid out in her head perfectly, even when she was not looking at the screens. An entire world, mirroring the one that had passed, populated only by children—she had developed a place where innocence could not be lost. War did not exist, because the children had no desire to fight. Everything was placed for them just right, so that they could play all day and in any manner they chose.

Using Murumuru, the new god of this world made her presence known. All the children knew Kamado's name, and she was their Mother from above, invisible but always there. When a child was close to falling in a river, Kamado would send out Murumuru to save him. Everyone was wrapped in her arms, safe from any form of harm. There were no diseases. There was no such thing as wild animals, only the cute and cuddly. Every creature was a friend to this young humanity, and even the sky and sun smiled upon them.

Kamado felt a tug on her robe. She saw Murumuru standing there, with a handkerchief in her hand. Kamado took it and wiped away her tears. "When I am too old to do my job," she announced, still clearly emotional, "I won't do what Deus did. I won't start a new diary game. When the time comes, we are going to decide which child in the world is the most kind-hearted and loving and grant him the title of god. That is how it will be."

Murumuru nodded but quickly added, looking away, "That will be a while, though. No need to worry about something like that…"

Kamado chuckled quietly. "Oh, yes," she started up. "I know that. We still have more work to do. We've created a world that does not have selfish adults in it. The survival game proved to me that growing up is the root of all the wrongs in the world—even Ai and Marco were willing to kill other people, for the throne I'm now in. I must make sure that sort of fighting doesn't happen again, in their memory."

"Yeah," Murumuru said. "But if people can't kill each other, people can't get sick, and people can't even get old and die… What's going to happen in the future?" She crossed her arms and eyed the screens. "You have fixed what looked like some big problems with the world. Deus could have stopped people from killing each other. But he didn't. When people fought wars in his name, saying they were fighting on behalf of their god, he allowed it to happen. You are changing things. But violent as his system might have been, he knew, I think, that if people were not allowed to die, they'd get bored being alive."

She turned to Kamado and asked, "What are you going to do when that happens? They'll run out of things to play with. They'll run out of things to discover. Children, everywhere, will feel like they have nothing left to live for. Millions all over will try killing themselves, but find that they can't even do that."

Murumuru lifted herself into the air and landed gently on Kamado's right shoulder. She placed her hand on the god's head. "What are you going to do, when that happens?"

Kamado shrugged, causing Murumuru to fall. "We will figure that out if that happens," she explained, before heaving a deep sigh. In her bright green eyes, a screen was reflected, in which a young Ai and Marco were going down a slide together. "This world is not yet perfect," she murmured, taking a warm cookie into her hand. "But I am making a promise to everyone down there and to everyone from the world before—" Kamado took a bite out of the chocolate chip cookie. "I will make this a better world for the children."


	9. Terror in the Skies

09 – Terror in the Skies

The door of the Omoi Taproom was gently pushed open. The light ripped into the dark atmosphere, separating from it like oil on water. An older gentleman, who appeared as though he were dressed for a hike, stepped inside and closed the door behind him. He had a sack over his shoulder and walked with heavy, clinking boots.

He had thick, olive-colored trousers and a dark blue knitted coat on and sat himself on a stool third from the right. It was an empty spot between a flirtatious young woman, leaning to her left, and a man in an overcoat, quietly sipping some sort of strong local drink. The newcomer reached into his pocket and pulled out a red envelope, sealed with a gold emblem. He slid it onto the table and held it there with his fingers, which poked out of his fingerless gloves.

He had a burly grey and white-speckled beard, chopped to medium-length. Some curls of his hair were visible under his deerstalker cap. He had remarkably inquisitive blue eyes, which settled on the man to his right for a long while. He slid the envelope over.

The man on the right took a long sip from his drink and then, moving with as few muscles as possible, took the offered envelope and carefully opened it.

"You hear about the terror in the skies?" Asked the bearded man.

The other gave a slow nod. His face was difficult to read, given the poor lighting of the bar. A few kerosene lamps swayed above. "Who wants to know?"

The bearded man's hand, which had been resting on the table, tightened into a ball. "They call me Fred Heiman."

The man to the right chuckled and beckoned the bartender over with his other hand. "Pour him an Ooshima, on me." The bartender nodded and walked off. Neither man looked over at the other, as they waited. The bearded man was looking down at his brown hands, and the one on the right had taken the ring out of the envelope and was admiring the three precious stones involved in its design.

"I've been looking for over a decade," Heiman said quietly. "Gave everything up for this, and now, I guess I can't say I regret it. But that doesn't mean I never had my doubts." He clicked his tongue within his mouth. "But I'm sure, to you, I'm just another desperate wanderer, looking to make the world a better place."

The other man said nothing, even as the drink was brought over. Heiman grabbed the glass and chugged the brew down.

"Well, I tell you, I'm not," he said, before running his hand down the length of his face. He tugged at his beard. "I don't want to make the world a better place. I just want power."

A smile was elicited from the dark corner. The man on the right reached into his coat and pulled out a wad of money, which he set on the wooden countertop. He then rose from the stool and buttoned up his coat.

Together with the young woman on the left, they lifted Fred Heiman, slumped forward against the counter, out of the Omoi Taproom.

When he came to, the bearded man was lying on cold stone. All of his body was shivering, except for his legs, which strangely enough were rather warm. He lifted himself up slightly and glanced over, only to find that some sort of little creature was sitting where the warmth was concentrated.

It was a little she-demon, he concluded, this imp that was whistling while sitting on his legs like they were natural furniture. He violently rose to his feet, knocking her down abruptly. "Where am I?" Heiman pulled out a pistol from within his knitted coat.

The creature, sitting with her hands down on the stone and her legs sprawled out in front of her, gave him a curious head-tilt. "I would think that someone who wanted to be here so badly would at least know where 'here' is…"

Heiman looked around. They were on a stone paved piece of land that, behind them, cut off suddenly, leading into the clouds themselves. In front of them, there was a massive castle. The main gate was composed of two stone doors, which were sealed in the center by the same emblem that sealed the red envelope he had given to the man at the bar.

"The Golden Monk," Heiman murmured. In his mind, the long pursuit of this secret symbol was conjured to his mind. Such a simple symbol containing untold mysteries! It was said, and said by few, that the ring and envelope were unacceptable without the proper seal of the Golden Monk. It was a brilliant gold representation of a crowned chipmunk.

To the average person, it seemed like a cutesy picture, but in reality, it was the key to reaching the Terror in the Skies—the massive castle that had been rumored to float above the world. Legend had it that those who obtained the Trinity Ring, placing it in a red envelope sealed with the Golden Monk, would be granted access to the Terror in the Skies. The world's braves adventurers and warriors would follow the difficult and puzzling trail of clues, before realizing the goal, only to never return to the world below. This was a place where one never returned from, and as such, it was considered by most to be either unreal or such a certain death sentence that it would be undesirable.

Heiman, however, concluded that such a dangerous place had to have dangerous secrets; these secrets, he also contended, could be used to his advantage. Men were cowardly things, weak social creatures that he felt sickened to be joined in company with. They spoke so often of brotherhood and community, but as a result, no one ever really stepped forward to _lead_. Through his travels to reach the Terror in the Skies, what he saw only proved to confirm his suspicion: the human race was a race of idiots that needed a powerful guide if they were ever going to progress.

"Hellooooooo!" Heiman turned around and found that the little demon was now floating towards him. She had all four limbs dangling down during what looked like a very lazy flight. "You've been staring at the building for forever! Are you going to go in, or not?"

Heiman, regaining his composure, scowled at the creature. "I will go at my own time. I have no interest in taking orders from an imp such as you."

The creature, with a slight gasp, defensively crossed her arms. "You don't even know me!" She pouted. "And if you did, you'd be treating me a lot better! After all, I'm not no ordinary imp—if you don't follow my lead, you won't make it anywhere in this castle."

He considered her words for a moment. No other living creature was in sight, and as things stood, he was trapped up in the sky with no food or water. The castle gates were closed and locked by the seal, that much was evident. He sighed and, with some displeasure, offered, "If you'd like, you can tell me a bit about yourself, so I at least know who I'm insulting."

The little devil liked the sound of that a lot more and responded, grinning, "I am Murumuru, servant of the god of time and space—a.k.a., the gatekeeper!"

A chuckle came from the man. "And now I see why I wanted to insult you," Heiman said. "God doesn't exist. Just some weak superstition to give encouragement to the simple-minded." He turned toward the gates, grinning. "But, I'll play along—Murumuru, O keeper of the gate! I beseech you, open these doors, so I may meet the lord of this world!"

He extended his hands toward the castle. His echoes of his booming voice faded without effect. A few seconds was all it took, before Heiman embarrassedly looked back. Murumuru had taken to painting her nails, a short distance away.

"What are you _doing_?" Heiman asked, approaching. "First you make fun of me for not going in, and now you won't even help open the door?"

Murumuru didn't even bother looking up from her feet. She gently applied some blue color to her toes. "It's not that simple, I swear!" She dabbed the brush into the little nail polish bottle. "I was hoping you'd rush toward the door and try to open it, because then you would've gotten a _massive_ shock. It's hilarious when they do that! The door is magically sealed, and I've been given strict orders not to break the seal all willy-nilly. First, you've got to prove yourself!"

What started out with a simple hike through the mountains became a series of trials. Murumuru teleported him to terrains he knew and terrains he had never before seen. Growing inside him was the sense that these places he was being placed in _did not even exist_, or if they did, they were in a world not his own. He was given missions by Murumuru, to infiltrate high security areas, to blow up temples, to make hasty escape routes against frightening odds, and still—even after all this—he had not gained entrance to the castle.

"Enough!" Heiman shouted. He was leaning forward with his hands on his knees, taking quick breaths. The portal closed between him and the gates. "I've proven myself more than enough. Let me inside, miserable demon!"

Murumuru, who was sitting cross-legged, looked at him and puffed out a big sigh. "Fine," she whined, "That last one is the last one. Just give me what you found."

Heiman was now satisfied and reached into his blue jacket, to pull out a small bottle. It was made of glass and had a silky pink liquid inside. "Here's your 'fountain of youth'! Fresh from the source!" He gave a shout and tossed it her way; Murumuru snatched the bottle before it could shatter on the stone. She set it down and, after some straining, popped out the cork. She took dipped her brush into the bottle and began to apply it to her toenails, to give them a nice pink luster and youthful appearance.

Murumuru leaned back and wiggled her toes. "You're in such a hurry to get inside," she started. "But I really don't see what all the fuss is about. The god of time and space is not any more interesting than the people down below—just bossier and louder than most." Nonetheless, she snapped her fingers, and from behind Heiman, he could hear the gates open.

Far from pearly, they were ugly grey slabs, but the sight of them parting lifted Heiman's beaten spirits. He started off running through them, in case the little imp decided to change her mind and make him go fetch her some magical hairpins.

The inside was dark. After coming out from the sunshine, after standing among the clouds, he was in a large, ominous space lit by only a few torches on the walls. There were three paths: a door to the left, a door to the right, and a staircase going up.

Heiman advanced up the stairs, which led him into a hallway. He traced his hand along the stone wall, snatching a cobweb along the way and having to wave a beastly spider off before it could advance up his arm. He continued to investigate, only to find himself in quite a maze. Each route he took led him to more hallways and stairs and rooms, none of which seemed to contain treasure or even a hint of this supposed god of time and space.

He was about to consider this all some ridiculous joke, when he found an exit he had previously somehow missed—a door cracked ajar, halfway down the hallway he had returned to. The speckled-bearded man sucked in his breath before entering.

Before him was a stretch of red and gold carpet that climbed up a short series of stairs, before stopping at a seated throne. A woman's shape was revealed through a deep red cloak. From within her hood, dark purple hair could be seen.

"Fred Heiman," called out the woman. "Make your move." She lifted one of her arms from the armrest of the chair to beckon him over. The whole of her face was covered by the shadows. The throne room was brighter than any other in the building, but even the multitude of stained glass windows rising to the high ceiling did not dispel the shadows of her cloak.

Heiman strutted forward. The door closed behind him, and he caught sight of something moving to his right. He drew his pistol and aimed immediately; stopping the figure just a second or two before it would have struck with the knife in its hand. The assassin was dressed in black, complete with light armor and a minimalist face mask. All that separated his identity from Heiman's vision was a thin conic mask, with a point stretching past the chin and a rounded top that went above the figure's head.

Heiman, without the slightest bit of hesitation, shot the assassin in black, sending a spray of blood to the floor, along with the body. He held still to his pistol as he ascended the throne.

"I have given up the past 11 years to get here," he said. He raised the pistol in his hand, so that it was aimed for the woman's head. "And now I get here, and you send one of your men to do away with me, without even giving me a proper hearing? Now, now. I think that's very unfair."

The woman chuckled. "The last thing you know this world to be is fair." She grasped her hood with both her hands and slowly brought it down. Two purple eyes met Heiman's. "And if you think I don't know how unfair your life has been, then you really are as ignorant as you sound. You come in here, as though I owe you something. When in reality, you wouldn't even _exist_ without me."

Heiman wanted to pull the trigger, but at the same time, he had not come all this way to not have the mystery go unsolved. "Who are you?" He pressed.

A sharp grin was drawn across the woman's face—a wide, terrifying grin. "I am Uryuu Minene, the Goddess of Causality!" He waved her hand, and the weapon in Heiman's hand went flying across the room, before striking the wall.

Nervously, the man chuckled and started up, "But, the notion of there being a god—in this lawless world—why, it's so absurd, that only one who has gone mad while living nearly alone in a floating castle could entertain such—"

Minene, who, for her part, seemed to be totally ignoring her intruder, looked past his shoulder and toward the body on the ground. "Nishijima," she called, softly but loudly. "Get up off the floor. You're embarrassing."

The assassin in black remained still for a moment, before groaning and rising to his feet. As he walked toward them, blood continued to drop from the wound.

"What is this?" Heiman barked, looking back at the newly risen man and then at Minene. "Is this supposed to prove that you can bring about resurrection? Show some originality if you're going to try to pull such illusions…"

Minene cut his trailed speech off. "I can't bring the dead back to life," she looked toward Nishijima, out of the corner of her eye. "That's something no one can do. You can't drag the past into the future. Only new futures can be created." Her eyes returned to Heiman. "But if you still don't believe that there is a god, even when she is sitting right in front of you, you've come to the wrong place after all. It is a marvel how someone so stupid could get so far."

Heiman, after finding Minene unable to be stared down, turned to look at Nishijma. The latter had taken off his mask, to his face and messy brown hair. It was clear now; he was the same man he had given the red envelope to at the bar. Heiman turned away from him, as well, and made his way down the stairs. He followed the red carpet down the stairs and was halfway out the door when he was called once more by Minene.

"Nishijima and I can't die, because of the power we share. If it's power you seek, then leaving this place now, after all you've done to get here, would be damnable."

Heiman turned around and looked toward the throne. The light from the stained-glass windows focused upon it intently. He looked up at them all. In them, he found the story that Minene was about to describe in detail—a cruel survival game, created by a god who seemed to revel in human violence.

"I dedicated my entire life to destroying the idea of god," Minene explained. "Because any god that would allow what happened to me deserved to be mocked. When I saw Deus, I could not deny it any further—there was a god, but it was a despicable creature. I learned as I went why I had been chosen: I had been chosen not because Deus wanted me to win, but because Deus wanted me to be humiliated through losing."

"I was set up to fail in every imaginable scenario," she explained. "My Escape Diary made me reliant on other Diary holders. If I remained with 4th, he and I would have been killed by 11th and his forced allies 8th and 7th. If I remained with 1st and 2nd, I would have to at some point kill one of them, and the other would hunt me mercilessly. Deus put me in the survival game because he knew I would lose. Anyone who spends all her time just running away can never succeed."

Heiman thought about her story for a moment, and then asked quite naturally, "If what you say is all true… How _did_ you manage to win?"

Minene looked toward Nishijima and smiled. It was a different smile than before; it was a tame smile. "Maybe it was fate," she said, before chuckling. "Or maybe it was just luck."

Nishijima placed his hand suddenly on Heiman's shoulder. "After we got a good idea of what the powers of a god could really do, we started spreading the rumor about the Terror in the Skies. Early on, I went down and left clues and challenges, designed to lure out the strongest and most courageous people. Everything you heard in the stories is true: this is a dangerous place with a hidden power. I am sure you have also heard, then, about the other part: that no one has ever returned to tell of exactly what that power is."

Heiman nodded.

"We have our reasons for keeping the humans below in the dark," Minene continued. "But all you need to know is that you're not an exception. Each time someone like you comes up here, we give you a choice."

Nishijima dropped his hand from Heiman's shoulder and stood by Minene's side. "We can give you a portion of our power," he explained. "Which also means a portion of pain. No one can be a happy god forever. Deus, alone in the sky, became so violent that the natural choice of a killing game was the only logical way to decide on a successor in his eyes. We do not want to become so reckless as that, so we have reached the conclusion that no one should be alone forever: not even god."

Minene, who by now had risen to her feet, shone under the light that seemed to be seeping in at an advancing rate. "But you do have a choice," she explained. "You can accept this power, and along with it, spend eternity with us and others who have accepted this power and this corresponding responsibility… Or you can return to the world below, without any memory of this place or anything in the past 11 years that have led up to us meeting like this. You cannot choose both. You cannot have both heaven and earth, Fred Heiman."

She stepped down from the throne and proceeded around it. Nishijima was at her heels. Wherever they walked, the growing light from the stained glass windows followed them, like a stage spotlight. She placed her hand on a door that remained previously unseen at the back of the room. Heiman made his way to the midpoint, between the throne and the door.

"And so I ask you… Which matters more: The world of your past, or the future holds?"


	10. The World Went to the Dogs

10 – The World Went to the Dogs

The _Canis Melitaeus_, with a life span of twelve to fifteen years and an average of 3 to 5 puppies per litter: a dog chiefly for show. It is small, and it is cute. Left to assist in a hunt, it will naturally be less effective than most other breeds. What it does is give off an appearance, that is all. They thrive on love and attention, to such an extent that they can suffer separation anxiety if taken away from their human companions. The full damage this trauma can have, however, varies upon each case.

This long haired Maltese however, looked anything but traumatized. She was in her element: standing proud and upright as her human companion brushed her. Her little body was pure white with lively, sea green eyes. This was a moment she could be content to live in for eternity.

"It's a beautiful day, isn't it?" The human tilted her head. She was wearing a low-cut, light purple top, and hanging along her waist was a long, similarly colored skirt that went down nearly to her ankles. "You know who made it this way, don't you?"

Hinata faintly smiled as she continued to brush the Maltese's long white hair. "It's because Father made it this way," she explained, softly. Hinata was kneeling by the dog, leaning her face toward the dog's ear. Her long skirt was flowing behind her, out of which were her bare feet. It was a fair day for dogs, a god, and a human. The sun was keeping watch, and the wind was a modest friend. In the sky, various clouds appeared, often mysteriously in the shape of bones or chew toys. "Just as Father makes every day."

From what they had figured, Deus had established such solid rules and laws of the world that he rarely had to lift a finger and issue commands any more. They were not at that stage yet. Her father was still toying with his newfound capabilities as god of time and space.

It amazed her even still that this was their reality. Her father's strategy had been brutally simple: he would scare his opponents until they felt their enemy was everywhere and began to act irrationally. By staging a chain of murders from afar, he was able to garner the attention of both the media and the other Diary owners without revealing his identity. With his Breeder Diary, he could control his numerous attack dogs, and he could send them into a frenzy after targets of his choosing.

When he began to notice that he was being observed, her father took an extreme gamble. He petitioned Deus for the chance to transfer his Breeder Diary to a third party, namely his daughter. The request was granted, and so Hinata became her father's arms and legs in the fight. She fought to the point of even having to fake her own death, just to lure her target into an unsteady panic. The combined planning of Hinata and her father paid off when the spy outside their house was at last cornered in a building. The dogs managed to break through and flood inside, ripping Kurusu Keigo to shreds. It was the death of 4th that shook up the survival game.

Now the police force was aware that not even their bravest and strongest was safe. Two movements happened simultaneously within the force: they strengthened their efforts to get to the bottom of these murders, while at the same time they drew back from the cases. A passionate desire for avenging Keigo appeared in his men, but this was balanced by an equal fear of standing out and ending up with his gruesome fate.

Hinata continued to brush the white Maltese.

With 4th out of the way, the rest of the events happened so suddenly that they all began to blur together in her memory. Spurred on by her father's promises of a wonderful future if he won, Hinata proudly led her father to victory. Their attack dogs managed to hunt down each of the Diary owners one-by-one, choosing the weakest Diary owners while the stronger ones naturally collided and took care of themselves.

The smile on Hinata's face quivered and tears were streaming down her cheeks in a thin line. The Maltese turned her head to look at Hinata, who continued to brush her as though nothing were amiss. Something of an understanding reached into the dog's eyes. The Maltese turned to her human's face, lapping up the tears. Hinata would have laughed, but something was preventing that. Instead, her tears only grew, until she finally lowered the brush and dropped it on the kennel floor.

She rose and left, allowing the Maltese to follow her through the open door. Along the paved path she walked, head down, with her companion at her heels. The new Cathedral of Causality supported an extensive series of kennels, in which her father's favorite pets dwelled. The whole Cathedral was composed of different "rings." The first one was at the base and was the largest; stairs led from this one up to the next. The higher the layer, the more valuable the animal was to him. At the top, there was a small little enclosed space, where her father spent much of his time in private. His bed was in there, as well as his books and luxuries. The tiny house was connected to a wine cellar. Hinata was not allowed in this top ring; only her father and his beloved Mary were welcome.

Just in front of the small house and wine cellar was an ornate chair. It was his throne, built into the Cathedral. From time to time, he would sit there and overlook his animals and the world he had created. Before, he monitored Deus' world with a massive computer screen in the basement. Now, he monitored the world from the skies, summoning up projections of the scenes below whenever he willed.

Hinata kept walking, with her head down.

Of course, not all of his animals were dwelling in the Cathedral. That was impossible; he had grown his pack far beyond anything seen before in human history. Below, the world went to the dogs. Every species of canine roamed, every rare breed her father had ever found mentioned in passing within one of his books; they all lived below in a more harmonious society than humans were ever capable of. They fought for food and territory, just as humans had, but unlike them, dogs never fought for the sake of peace. They never tried to be anything more than animals.

Hinata collided with something in front of her. It turned out to be Karyuudo Tsukishima, her father. It was unusual to see him down here, on the bottom ring of the Cathedral. After Hinata collected herself and apologized, she saw her father open up his arms wide.

A gentleman's vest in the world had been converted into a magnificent, purple pinstripe robe. This classy vestment covered up his old boots, which of course he still wore. Such old habits were a bother to part with. The sleeves of the robe were rolled up; he still wore massive blue bite guards on his forearms.

Tsukishima closed his arms around his daughter. Her body was awfully stiff, but he held the embrace.

"And to think…" Tsukishima shut his eyes and gave thought to that which he decided he would never say. "To think that I had planned on lying to her… I was prepared to lie to her, if defeat was inevitable. I would have told her that the promise I had made, the promise being lived out now, was a lie—I was planning on lying to her, so that she wouldn't have to mourn over her father's death… That way, she could move past me, even if that meant hating me." He held her tighter, but she really did not respond. The Maltese sat down by her feet. "But, I never had to make that lie…"

Tsukishima broke the embrace and took a step back from her. He then placed his gloved hands on her shoulders and, looking into her lowered eyes, said sternly, "You need to accept things as they are now." Hinata refused to look up at his face. "You can't keep holding this all against me. It's already been some time, yet you still—"

"It's been only a week," Hinata interrupted, softly.

"And that is sufficient time for you to accept the world I've made for you. After all that has happened, I thought you would know enough to accept the fruits of our labor when offered to you."

"But Mao—"

"I scarcely understand your preoccupation with that particular subject, afterall—"

Hinata jolted back. Tsukishima's hands fell to his side. She was now looking at her father, but not with the reverence he had hoped for. "I was prepared to give up everything to help you become a god," she stated. "But Mao—why did she have to give up everything, too?" Her father looked as though he was about to answer, but Hinata continued, "Everyone I cared about lost their life for us either working with us or working against us—don't you understand that, Father? All of my friends are dead, even Mao…"

Tsukishima smiled. "But, Hinata, dear, Mao is here…"

Hinata's eyes flashed. "This _thing_ isn't Mao."

Tsukishima frowned. "I'm sorry you feel that way… It's unfortunate that you hold that view."

"This dog isn't Mao!" Hinata turned toward the white Maltese with the bright sea green eyes. She went to bury her teary face in the animal's coat. She scooped the dog up and held her tightly in her arms, before turning to look at her father again. "She… she… She can't think on our level, she can't feel like she used to be able to feel, she can't hang out, and she can't even hold a simple conversation…"

Her father crossed his arms and looked away, for a moment. "You should be happy I brought her back, at all." His voice was quiet, but it hit Hinata. He blinked away the words he would not say: "You don't need another person to talk to, other than me. We have all these years to make up for. You don't need distractions." Those were notions, however, he kept only in his mind.

He looked back at her. Tsukishima thought to himself of the ways in which he might try to make it up to his daughter. "Hinata," he began, now with a bright smile. "Let's have some dinner! Matsusaka steak, your favorite soup… I can have Murmuru cook it all up for us, in no time. We'll polish it off with a glass of my prized 30 year old wine! It will be splendid!"

Hinata shook her head. "That isn't enough, Father."

With his arms still tightly crossed, Tsukishima turned his back to her. He was frowning and had closed his eyes. "This is why I like dogs more than people," he said. "They listen." He knew it might not be advisable to say these things, but he needed to make his stance clear. "They obey."

"You give them shelter and food, and they love you _unconditionally_. They ask for nothing more to be in your presence. They do not wander away, to find lesser love—they are content to just be with their master. You tell them to hunt, and they hunt. They don't come crawling back, wanting anything great in return. They hunt, because they enjoy the hunt and because they want to make their master happy. Humans, I always thought, were just slow to catch on… But now I realize that perhaps they simply _cannot_ get better."

The following weeks as god of time and space were eventful for Tsukishima. He was quick to lay out his world, and he was already about to start setting up the rules and laws that might soon bring real structure to his reign. It was a tough week. He kept his assistant busy, too. As he set up the rules for the world below, he set up the rules for Murmuru above. Chief among these tasks was seeing to it that she groomed and took the very best care of the brown cocker spaniel, the one with beautiful amber eyes. He had in mind to bring her up to the top ring someday, but he knew that would take some tender love and conditioning.


	11. New Order

11 – New Empire

A gold-trimmed, red-cushioned seat was in the center of the room. This was the seat of power, the Greek _Dios thronous_, occupied by the sole sovereign. King John's spectacles reflected the light that entered through the great stained glass window well above the room's entrance. On the stained glass was a depiction of the fallen Deus, reaching his hand down to the mortal John, in a total transference of authority.

While sitting here, John felt almost himself. It was a fair bit paradoxical; the very seat that indicated more than anything else his reign and responsibilities therein was also the place where he was most able to forget the aches of godhood. He rubbed his forehead, a couple of inches below where a tiny crown was tightly hugging the top of his head. The crown had twelve unique jewels encrusted within its gold frame: a sequence of sapphire, topaz, diamond, emerald, red opal, turquoise, garnet, aquamarine, pearl, ruby, peridot, and amethyst.

King John's royal robe was appropriately royal blue, and peeking underneath the collar was his red cravat. His gaze was downcast, settling upon Murumuru, who was busying herself with a game of checkers. She was lying on her stomach, kicking her legs leisurely back and forth, one after the other. Under his watch, she would make a move and then roll herself over to the other side of the board. There, she would make an equally stunning move against herself.

"I have always thought that chess is a superior game," King John said. He folded his hands together and, with a slight lean forward, let his chin rest on his knuckles.

Murumuru shrugged from her spot on the stone floor. "It's too confusing. Checkers can be just as tough!" She heaved a good sigh and then, with genuine frustration, furrowed her brows into a fierce competitive look. "Especially against such a tough opponent…"

As she rolled herself to the other side, the King lifted his chin from his knuckles and turned it gently aside. With his cheek resting against his hands, he looked over at a painting on the wall. It depicted two adults, a man and a woman, each holding a shoulder of the black haired boy who stood between them. It was the Amano portrait.

His eyes gently closed. He recalled in brief how, shortly after he had attained his status as the God of Time and Space, he had gathered together the greatest artists in the world for the sake of recreating the original Diary holders and those they held dear. These eleven paintings were evenly spaced along the four walls of the throne room, with Yukiteru's just to the right of the door. To the left of the door, Yomotsu Hirasaka was immortalized through art.

Truthfully, he had given no real thought to the notion of trying to bring any of them back to life with his new powers. Their physical presence in this world was of no value to him. The purpose these paintings served was to constantly remind him of the data he collected from these original _samples_, so that he could not forget all the valuable information on human behavior he had gleaned from the other contenders. When he looked on at each visage, he saw their hope, anger, fears, love, and the dreams for which they were willing to not only give up their own lives but take the lives of others as well.

"Excuse me, your Highness."

At the door was Ryuji Kurosaki, the royal advisor. He was an able courtier who transitioned seamlessly into his role in the new world, so well in fact that it seemed ludicrous that at one time he was a mere office secretary. Ryuji wore an extravagant, snug white doublet with zaffre trimming, tights, and brown boot crackowes.

"My Diary informed me that in four minutes you would be requesting food, and so I decided to arrive with it a little early," Ryuji explained. "This way, you would have it before you would need to feel hungry."

In the advisor's hands was a silver platter, on which was a small loaf of black rye and a glass of Valpolicella wine. He stepped over Murumuru's chess board, which caused the little demon to rise and complain. Neither the King nor his advisor paid any real heed to her furor, and so it was short lived. Murumuru went back to the floor, but instead of going back to her game, she watched her superior closely.

Ryuji bent into a slight bow as he passed the platter into John's hands. "Is there anything else you desire, your Highness?"

It was a silly question. The Secretary Diary would have told Ryuji if there really was anything else. It did not exactly read his mind, but as it hinted at every future action the King would make, there was little it was not capable of gleaning. "No, that will be quite enough, thank you," the King answered. "Thank you."

Ryuji bowed his head and then turned once more. He looked down at Murumuru for a moment. The latter snarled at him, and the former mocked her with a smirk. He headed back toward the door, shortly on his way, stepping on her game.

"Oh, my apologies!" Ryuji called, as he kept walking. He turned his head back. "That must be most unfortunate. It looked as though the game was getting somewhere and was about to conclude. I had best be getting on my way, before I cause any more trouble." He looked back, to watch Murumuru pick up the pieces in a scurry.

"Wait!"

The King had one hand up, while the platter rested on his legs.

"I _do_ have one more request."

Ryuji's eyes moved from Murumuru to the King. "Yes, your Highness?"

John answered, "I would like to not be disturbed for the next hour. I have my Diary on silent, as you well know, but I also want you to bring me no visitors. Bring me no diplomats seeking favors. This goes for yourself as well; let no one in here."

Ryuji gave a slow, accepting nod. "Shall I escort the… the other occupant of this room away, as well?"

"No, no," John said, clearing his throat. "I would like Murumuru to stay. Hers is the only company I seek right now. Now, I bid you away."

With a certain pallor to his face, the royal advisor looked once more toward Murumuru, who was sticking her tongue at him and waving her hands. His expression nulled. "Very well, your highness," he said, submitting, before leaving. The sound of the door being closed hung in the air for a moment.

It was now just King John, Murumuru, the twelve paintings, and the stained glass image above the door. He could scarcely recall how long it had been since he had truly been this alone. It was a beautiful feeling, to feel alone. It was a wonderful sound, to hear nothing at all.

Murumuru was looking up at him, in obvious expectation. This was not a common order for the King to give. She had been treated usually with mild annoyance by him, but now he was showing such peculiar favor to her that she knew he was about to say something that was for her ears only. He may have asked not to be shown anyone asking for favors, but that did not mean he was necessarily not going to ask for any himself.

"Murumuru… are you familiar with the traditions of the people you observed?" John asked slowly, as though tasting each word. "You see, there is a certain Christian tradition… and by no means was I ever a regular church-goer, I was too busy of a man, but…" He smiled and glanced down at his platter. "This reminds me of the Holy Supper, too much for me not to make the comparison."

Murumuru sat cross-legged by the chess board.

"This bread is my body," John said, lifting up the loaf of black rye. He set it down and then took hold of the knife. He cut it swiftly and with precision. Then he held up a piece in his hand. "Which is for the world."

He raised the glass next. "This wine is the new empire in my blood." He sipped for a while, before setting it down, and smiling. "Do you think, Murumuru, that as they walk this earth, they walk in remembrance of me?"

No time was given for her to answer. "Do you think that they realize what I have given up, for their sakes? Do they know what it means, that I gave up my humanity so that they may become new, higher beings?"

"I have given my flesh and blood for the world," John continued, as Murumuru began to shrink beneath him. "But they are always needy, and even this seems not to be enough. Without a clear guide, they are chaotic as ever. Murumuru, you know that men live not on bread alone— but why do they still _need_, after all I've given them? They have no right to not be happy, at this stage of their evolution."

A chance was given for Murumuru to speak. "Did you really think you could change human nature that much?"

"Of course, _I am_ _God_!" The light from the stained glass window reflected off his spectacles. "I have done for them what Deus never did. I have given them attention, tended to their problems, and most of all, I have brought along a new age of mankind: I have completed my original mission, of transferring divine power to every man in the world. With these Future Diaries, each person has access to constant updates on that what matters most to him. The lover knows always where his love will be, to keep her safe. The materialist will always know the most profitable path. I have given them everything they need, but they insist on disorder!"

"You're seeing that instead of making everyone happy, the Diaries are bringing out the worst parts of human nature," Murumuru commented. "Instead of becoming more virtuous, they are going to become more wicked. I could've told you that from the beginning! Look at those people you had painted in this room— or, better yet, consider yourself."

John had never known Murumuru to be so serious. Truthfully, she had always seemed like a total blockhead to him, but now he was giving real consideration to her words. His power had driven him to this point; he was now clinging on to any morsel of his humanity left. All the constant requirements made of him made him want to shut himself up in the throne room. He had dismissed Ryuji with the request of leaving him be for an hour, but he really wanted to be left alone for far longer than that.

"It was almost inevitable that you were going to win," Murumuru said, changing the topic. "There was a 91.02% chance, from the start. You had all the resources available and were willing to do anything to win. Now look at yourself! You did everything you could to win, and now you act like it was not worth it! Make up your mind!"

The King sighed. "Maybe I was willing to do too much," he said, quietly. "It is a shame that 8th had to die. I nudged her as a target. I called for the destruction of her home and the home of her orphans. I did that, because I assumed that if I won, I could create a better world for those children she raised."

He could see Murumuru's skepticism.

"Perhaps that was not the goal at the forefront," John explained, knowing that truthfully power was on his mind, "But I knew human nature well… I wanted to change how adults always were willing to hurt each other. I wanted to end the fighting in the most logical way: by giving people what they had been fighting about. If everyone were happy and could have access to what they want, why would there be violence in the world?"

"But now I have a computer instead of 8th," he reflected. "I have a super computer pumping out Apprentice Diaries, which are being used in ways I never intended. I have considered an executive order that would disable Diaries of those with a criminal record, but that ignores the threat continuing to present itself: the power is being abused on a much broader scale." He glanced toward the portrait of Kurusu Keigo.

"I was too intoxicated by power to realize the damage these Diaries might do," John said, looking back toward Murumuru. "I need to find a way to right this, before it gets more out of hand. I need to—"

The door was flung open. Ryuji stood at the entrance, breathing heavily. "Your Highness! Your Highness! Come quickly!" He held the door open with his outstretched hand; from behind him, smoke was entering the throne room.

King John rose with a start, knocking the platter to the floor. The wine spilled at his feet, and the loaf of bread landed with a thud next to Murumuru. "What is the meaning of this?" He adjusted his spectacles. "I instructed you not to—"

"We are being attacked!" Ryuji interrupted, tremors in his voice. "The Castle, the Castle is being attacked from the skies… The men aboard are readying the canons to launch a counterattack, but we need your—"

The advisor was stopped by the King's laughter. John was bent forward slightly, grinning from ear to ear. "Let them attack!" He shot a fierce glance over toward Ryuji. "I am God. They cannot hurt me. Nothing they can do can destroy me."

"B-but!" Ryuji was flustered. "But they can still destroy us, and everyone here in the castle! There are hundreds of your servants, generals, and diplomats here, requiring your orders for protection!"

John crossed his arms. "It is because of this you suffer… Hmmm…"

Ryuji was visibly puzzled, but John was too far gone in thought to notice.

"Then, perhaps I had it wrong…" He closed his eyes. "Happiness is not in having what you want, but in having total security… Then men do not need Future Diaries, but they need to be more like me… I need to make them in my image…"

Ryuji was about to say something, but he was gunned down at the door. The body slumped forward, and from where it just stood, men in masks came flooding in, each a soldier in black. One of them dumped a barrel of gasoline into the room, and another lit it with a torch. The fire melted the paintings, until the smoldering works looked too deformed to be recognizable likenesses of the Diary users.

But King John stood still. Murumuru clung to his leg, and King John let the bullets repel off his body. "Futile," he murmured. "All futile… Everything that you do is futile… Because I alone am _Übermensch_. I will destroy you, mold you as clay, and make you in my image… And eventually, I will give you no choice but to be happy and to _obey_… Order will reign."


	12. Just World Phenomenon

12 – Just World Phenomenon

"_A defenseless cry in the night_

_The weak scurrying in fright_

_If only a hero would rise to save…_

_The world! The weak! The innocent!_

_But look, look there, in the sky~!_

_It looks like a god, but I wonder—why?_

_Why does he look so handsome—_

_Why does he fight so righteously—_

_Why does he see all evil—_

_Who is this brave, eternal justice that we love?"_

Yomotsu Hirasaka was singing to himself, his head bobbing back and forth to the imaginary beat he was imagining. He sat under a spotlight, on his throne, which was simply his old wooden chair that he had dragged with him into godhood. In one hand he held a scepter with a large eyeball at the top.

After he was crowned victorious, Murumuru had suggested that he abandon his old spandex costume and assume a king's robe—but Yomotsu would have no such thing! However, he did agree to make a few slight modifications to his mask, upon Murumuru's insistence. They were simply too stellar to do without, also. The black costume had turned to gold, and the transformation belt and gloves had a rainbow palette set that actually was in constant motion. Even as he sat at the chair, relatively motionless, the gloves and belt continued to change colors, like hyperactive and flashy, multi-layered mood rings. The same coloration was true of the design on his eye mask. A final and important change was that the pupil on the mask was swapped out by a simple black outline of a three-pointed crown.

It was in this righteous getup that Yomotsu oversaw the world and kept the word "justice" ubiquitous on the lips of the world. "What do you think, Murumuru…" Yomotsu looked over, from his seat. "Aren't we cool?"

Murumuru had managed to convince Yomotsu to change his appearance, partly for her own sake. She could not take herself seriously serving someone that looked _that_ weird. Despite how little his new look improved her opinion of him, she had agreed to change her own look if Yomotsu did—and so now Murumuru was wearing the garb of a go go girl from the age of Aquarius. She was forced to put her hair into a beehive and wore white gloves and tall white boots. Her dress was a light blue with psychedelic eye designs swirling all around.

"Yeah…" Murumuru muttered, poking at her hair. "We're definitely something else…"

Yomotsu looked off into the distance and thought aloud, "The truly righteous always win, and so it was fated that I would be victorious over evil. 1st and 2nd did not heed my warning and were destroyed with 6th, and from that point on, I consistently began to gain the upper hand. The other Diary owners were so corrupt! An internal war between the police department and the mayor eliminated 4th and 11th prematurely, giving 10th an opening to attack the orphanage that housed 7th and 8th. All I had to do was remain quiet, and justice would silently rise to strike at the final moment!"

He sighed. 9th had been put in a situation in which she could not escape. 10th's dogs ripped her apart. That was one of the most disappointing events in the survival game, but Yomotsu knew she had not yet given up her evil and still posed a threat if she won. That was the best way to generalize it. After all, fate had worked in such a way that the best had truly won—and that he could think on these memories from the throne was proof enough of that.

"You talk about your victory _a lot_," Murumuru whined. She started pulling on her gloves and, feeling bored, began to wander off, into the darkness that swallowed everything far away from the spotlight above Yomotsu's head.

Suddenly, the new god rose, and both of their bodies flashed. They were teleported, in an instant, to another area of the Cathedral of Causality. All around them was a different sort of darkness, wherein little white lights dotted the wide abyss. They stood on the top of a large podium that descended downward into the unknown. A complicated system of computers circled around them, with screens and buttons of various colors flashing against the dull grey systems. These computers stored massive quantities of information on the new and prior world and could carry out complex tasks.

Yomotsu had a habit of calling this entire structure the Command Center, even after Murumuru kept reminding him that it is called the Cathedral of Causality. The rooms of the structure, whatever it was to be called, were isolated and could be accessed only by teleportation. The room they were in now was where most of their observations of the world below too place.

The Viewing Globe, which resembled a crystal ball, sat on one side of the room, and by looking into it, they could view scenes from various points in the world. On the other side of the room, there was a large plasma tube with a voice recorder suspended in it. By approaching it, they could hear Yomotsu ringing in a new prophecy of justice. He was his own secretary and manager, so to speak. Murumuru felt totally useless; his Diary allowed him to remind himself constantly of what needed to be done. Even when the voice recorder told him to do silly and unimportant things, it was not as though Murumuru really could stop him, anyway. One time, he had been told by his Diary that one of the cities was getting really dirty, and he reacted by devoting his energy into creating a vast army of waste collectors that stormed the streets.

The god in golden spandex waved his scepter in the air, and the area started to lighten up. The faster the eye at the top swirled around, the brighter the atmosphere became, until the area was illuminated and in the distance, white walls could be seen. They were suspended in the very middle of a great expanse. Yomotsu touched the Viewing Globe with a gloved hand, and images projected themselves in various scales along the distant walls. Audio from each scene was also coming from concealed speakers, but instead of overloading Yomotsu, he was able to decipher the sounds perfectly.

"The sweet sound of justice," he cooed, before suddenly pointing his scepter at Murumuru. "Can you hear it?"

Murumuru gave a nervous nod.

He opened his hand and dismissed the staff. It teleported away, until next time he should want it. "All around the world, my chosen heroes are chasing down evil! More and more prisons are being filled each day, in pursuit of a cleaner world! Nothing could be so beautiful as the sighs of evil ones and cheers of onlookers~!"

Murumuru crossed her arms and looked on at a scene in which a spandex-wearing hero with a blue eye mask was chasing down someone who downloaded a couple of music albums illegally the night prior. Her eyes moved to another scene, in which a hero wearing a green eye mask was fighting a giant squid monster that was threatening to destroy New York City. Elsewhere, someone wearing a pink eye mask was trying to prevent a bank robbery.

"I don't know," Murumuru responded. "This seems a little backwards, to me. You've definitely made things a lot more exciting by creating all these heroes across the world, but in order to give them something to do, you had to create more evil. The greater the heroes you produce, the greater the evil—and maybe it's not all so bad, but it's tough to say you've done anything other than put a lot of lives at risk and spread your image…"

Yomotsu looked at her and began to answer, "They are fighting in my place, as new heroes of justice, with whom I'm sharing my mighty powers and—"

"Do I misunderstand?" Murumuru interjected, before suddenly pointing his way. "Or are you fooling yourself into thinking you're doing the world a favor?"

Yomotsu waved his arms frantically in front of himself. "No, no, no!" He exclaimed, "Even if I have to create wickedness so wickedness can be destroyed, this world has more true justice than ever before! The defeat of evildoers is divine!"

Murumuru was about to retort, when a recording of Yomotsu's voice came from the plasma tube. The god instantly scurried closer to it, to hear its command:

"I will create a frightening, giant ball that will roll across the world and swallow up people, buildings, towns ,and even entire cities as it progresses. I will assemble the heroes of the world to join to fight it, and the world will know their power!"

Yomotsu sprang into action. He went to one of the computers and furiously began to type up a command. Murumuru watched from afar, until her attention was drawn to a large screen in the distance. It depicted the outside of the Cathedral of Causality, so high in the heavens, and a ball of light that was manifesting just below it. The ball began to take shape and formed into a massive, shimmering crystal ball, which threatened to blind the people below with a dazzling display.

"Wh-what is that for?" Murumuru dared to ask.

"You'll see," Yomotsu said menacingly. "This must be done."

Yomotsu pressed firmly down on the enter key, and something remarkable happened: Each of the mirrored facets of the massive crystal ball turned into an eye that could look around and even blink independently of the others. Some eyes were big as houses, and others were the size of a normal human's—but there were countless numbers of them on the ball, swallowing up its entire form. Then, in literally the blink of an eye, the ball dropped from the Cathedral of Causality and smashed into Sakurami City.

Yomotsu let out a great laugh and stretched out his hands, open and wide. "I laugh at the evil that tries to defeat my heroes!"

Murumuru, lost for words, watched as the ball began to roll of its own will across the land, obliterating anything that crossed its path. The "sweet sound of justice" now took the form of people screaming throughout this space of the Command Center. In short time, they would watch how Yomotsu's just world phenomenon would play out: the many heroes dressed in 12th's likeness would join their powers to not only stop the progression of the giant ball of eyes, but actually send it hurtling into the sky.

There was just one tiny little problem, a slight misfortune in the great scheme of things: the giant ball of eyes was sent straight in the direction of the Cathedral of Causality. Murumuru's eyes widened; from the screen, she could the little dot growing in view and emerging from the clouds. It was on fire.

"Yomotsu—do something!" The little devil shouted, flying around the column. "We're going to get hit!"

Yomotsu simply stood there and, slightly bent forward, stared at the computer in front of him. He contemplated his options, until finally, one route seemed most righteous. He leapt forward, throwing himself off the column. Murumuru rushed over and peered over the edge, watching as the golden justice ranger descended.

Surrounded by the endless white, Yomotsu summoned his scepter on the way down and gave it a spin. Under him, a shimmering silver motorcycle materialized. He carefully planned his fall so that he might land on it. He was able to get into the seat and, with a shout, fired the beast up. From the back of the motorcycle, a rainbow shot out, and he rode the motorcycle straight through to the bottom of the Cathedral of Causality, a little hole that opened up to the world below.

He could see the flaming ball of eyes advancing, but instead of turning back, _Yomotsu rolled on_. He shot forward, and his motorcycle cut through the skies like a knife through butter. The rainbow arced from the Cathedral of Causality towards the ultimate collision. Yomotsu charged unflinchingly toward the giant ball of eyes and held his scepter high. He swung it back and, with all the eyes on him at once, with his body just a foot from being splattered against the massive threat, _struck the ball_.


	13. (Omni Terminat)

13 – Omni Terminat

The TV screen went blank. Murumuru had shut it off and sat the remote next to where she sat. Her head tilted towards the stranger in the room, wearing the paper bag.

"Well? How did you like those futures? That last one was pretty great, wasn't it?"

He was striking a pose out of the corner of Murumuru's eye. She looked down at the floor and muttered, "I don't like any of them…"

The figure, whose arms had been crossed, realized the sadness in Murumuru's tone and approached her. He bent down on one knee, resting his left arm there, and placed his right hand on Murumuru's shoulder. "There, there—what don't you like about them?"

Murumuru hid her face away, but answered quietly, "Even with the ones that went well, I'm so useless… Only Kamado would treat me with respect, but I don't want to bake cookies for all of eternity! These futures are sometimes great for the gods themselves, and in fewer cases great for the world… But none of them are great for me."

The paper bag nodded. "Ah, I know how you feel… A servant always faces humiliation and misunderstanding. He is one who suffers. You are forever god's servant and thus are never the one in control… Much like a servant of justice, who follows the righteous order."

Murumuru rose, shrugging the stranger's hand away from her. "There's only one person who _needs_ me!" She gave the figure, who remained on his knee, a fierce glare. Her voice rose. "And this just proves that I need to make sure _she_ is the one who wins… Even if we have to do this for an eternity, at least I will finally have a purpose!"

She turned and extended her hand. A portal opened up, back to the Cathedral of Causality. She would make up a story about her disappearance and be only temporarily yelled at by Deus. After that, she could do her job and proceed with the survival game—which, more than ever, she knew she had to manipulate. The portal swirled in front of her, a spiraling of dark purple and lavender swirls, forever charging inward, bending time and space.

"I have only a portion of Deus' powers… But with Gasai Yuno, I have much more than physical power. I have _true_ authority. She will listen to me, because she needs me… Because without me, she can't have her happy end! The tighter she binds Yukiteru, the more liberated I am—his slavery to her is my only form of freedom."

Murumuru formed a ball of energy into her hand and balanced it there for a while. She then turned her head and, before the stranger could stop her, launched it for the television—which was dissolved upon impact. The remote, too, glitched out of this world in a manner similar to how a Diary and its wielder might disappear once the Diary has been destroyed. Murumuru focused her eyes on the empty spot and then set her focus back towards the portal, which she drew closer to her.

"I cannot let you leave here like this, Murumuru!" The stranger leapt over her and landed between her and the portal. He stretched out his hand outward, with his palm facing her. "I can't allow you to use what you have seen to help 2nd win. The TV you have destroyed was a prototype Future Diary, given to me a fellow traveler between dimensions and worlds—a man named Fred Heiman. He gave it to me, on the condition that I use it to prevent the unjust from seizing power. This is nothing personal against you, Murumuru, but I have seen the mad spiral that Gasai Yuno is willing to put this world through! The button on the remote was switched for a reason—I did not want to give you any further ideas about her! But you won't forget about her without _assistance_…"

The man with the paper bag over his head then turned his hand, so that back of his fingers and knuckles faced her. He cut diagonally through the air with the same hand and, with the other, began to make a swirling motion. Murumuru, at first confused, figured out that something was amiss here. She was starting to feel a little dizzy, and at first recognition of this bodily change, she seized an object that had been scattered on the floor and thrust it in front of her body: a mirror.

"_Memory transformaaaaa_—_uhhh_—_uhhhhhh_—_ " _

An attempt to hypnotize Murumuru into forgetting what she had seen and heard quickly backfired. The man with the paper bag over his head managed to draw himself into a hypnotized state. Murumuru slowly lowered the mirror and seized the moment. She cleared her throat and commanded: "You will forget all about the TV Diary, the futures that you saw, and anything related to me or other visitors from other worlds! This shall occur when I snap my fingers!"

Murumuru passed the stranger. He was bent forward slightly, frozen in place. His body stirred only in the slightest, in response to his slowed breathing. She advanced so that half her body was in the portal and then, gently commanding the passageway to close in a fleeting moment, snapped her fingers.

It was in the Cathedral of Causality she called home that she emerged, before Deus. He looked at her, curiously, and remarked, "You're late, Murumuru… And I notice you have not distributed the Future Diaries. What have you been up to?"

The servant smiled at her master. Any punishment he dealt would be temporary and would be wiped away when Gasai Yuno would reign. He was just a temporary concern. It was sad to know that Deus would decay soon, but only sad in the sense that a human might feel sympathy. Murumuru, however, had far different concerns. It was such that sadness was far from dominant in her; she had a vicious and predatory eagerness in her soul. She had seen the surrogate gods, and none of them were so promising as her chosen one. Her resolve was solid.

Looking up, in a cheerful tone, Murumuru simply responded, "I have been watching TV!"

* * *

As a final note, I'd like to mention that I wrote this prior to watching the English dubbing of the anime. The characters here reflect my interpretation of the English subbed program, and I own _nothing_ except maybe the time I spent writing this thing. All characters and concepts and whatever belong to Sakae Esuno and the brilliant peoples involved in the anime. I thank you for reading and encourage you to leave a review, whether you hated it or tolerated it or WHATEVER. Your thoughts are appreciated. Have a nice day and go watch some TV now.


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